Purgatory
by HelenT
Summary: As if the comment Obi-Wan had made to Luke about Anakin ‘dying’ when he became Darth Vader was literally true, a newly dead Vader wakes in a strange world—as a twenty-three year old again. Post ROTJ-See chapter 1 for full summary.*Anakin/Padme* AU
1. Chapter 1

Title: Purgatory (Prologue and Chapter One)

Author: Helen_Taft

Genres: Angst/Action/Romance

Pairing: Anakin/Padmé

Summary: As if the comment Obi-Wan had made to Luke about Anakin 'dying' when he became Darth Vader was literally true, a newly dead Anakin Skywalker wakes in a new world—given the appearance of his twenty-three year old self. However, the self-sacrifice that ended his life has also given Anakin an unexpected boon that he isn't sure he can accept. Worse, it comes with conditions that might just be impossible to meet. A moment of redemption is one thing, but a full reformation another entirely. Set immediately after ROTJ.

Note (1): Huge Thanks to NIKEJ for the belated beta *hugs her*.

Note (2): This story was begun back in March and is about half way through. I hope you enjoy reading it.

**PROLOGUE**

Vader knew he was dead. He was blind and could feel nothing of his body. As his thoughts were all that were left to him, he let his mind wander. With surprising complaisance, he recalled the peace of the last few minutes of his life. Ironically, they'd been full of sirens blaring and punctuated by blasts and explosions, all under-toned by voices ripe with panic and confusion. He'd been in pain, he remembered, although he felt none now. He dwelt on that memory aboard the doomed Death Star, and the fact that dying had felt oddly euphoric. For the first time in twenty three years, he had been suffused with light—through love for his son.

His last weak-voiced request echoed in his mind, _You were right… you were right about me. Tell your sister… You were right…"_

He hoped Luke did, and prayed it would be enough for his daughter to begin to forgive her father.

He drifted a few moments until another memory butted in, rife with confusion; his own. He'd been in a forest. The glade had been full of jubilant noise and Master Yoda and Obi-Wan Kenobi were standing beside him. For a split-second it had been as if he had never become Darth Vader, instead remaining Anakin Skywalker and a Jedi. But, of course, he _had_ become Vader, dedicating himself to fulfilling the demands of his Sith Master; corrupted, addicted, monstrous. Nothing could change that. No-one can wipe out the past.

Still, it had been worth the illusion to see Luke one more time. The bonus had also meant he could lay eyes on the daughter he hadn't realised was his own flesh and blood. He should have guessed he thought now, she had Padmé's eyes.

That name—one he hadn't allowed himself to even think of in decades—caused him to feel a bittersweet poignancy that was a thousand times more painful than dying. If he was truthful, she'd been hovering at the edge of his mind ever since their son had come into his life. He'd managed to keep her out by sheer force of will, habit and necessity. Palpatine would have sensed it and some small part of Vader had not wanted to hear her name on his master's lips. Still, in all of those years while he'd hunted for Luke and hatched plots, she'd refused to disappear. Now, because of his daughter, he could no longer keep her out.

They had created wonderful children, he and Padmé. He suffered another flashback, short but lancing; liquid brown eyes shining in a face that glowed with youth, beauty and wonder, and trepidation. _"Something wonderful has happened. I'm….Ani, I'm pregnant."_

It was a pitch-perfect memory of her voice with every nuance captured. This time he actually moaned—a long, low sound that his mask could never have reproduced. "Padmé."

Complaisance fled.

His love for his son had paved the way and the door had remained open even in death. Every painful emotion he'd let atrophy for so long slammed into him. It was too much. He couldn't think about her. He wouldn't. He hadn't since the day he'd been told that she was dead. Blind to anything else and twisted already by his new master, he'd committed atrocities to save her and killed her himself. On that day, in that moment, his overwhelming despair burnt every single shred of emotion left to him, except for hate, anger and malice—leaving only a vessel to the dark side. There hadn't been room for anything else because there had been nothing left to live for. His choice had been made. He had only ever really suffered when he'd still been Anakin Skywalker.

Like now.

_It is the name of your true self. You've only forgotten._

The pain woke both his body and his senses.

**CHAPTER ONE **

Before he'd even opened his eyes impressions bombarded Anakin; rough, course weave chaffed under his shoulder-blades and across his loins, covering his face. A chill breeze like ghostly fingers traced his chest under the covering. The loamy smell of dirt mingled with the musk of body odour. Opening his eyes, he jack-knifed upright so fast his head spun sickly. As he did, the shroud fell from his head.

What he saw made no sense. He was still lying on the hanger-bay floor onboard the Battle Star. Only now it was completely, eerily silent. White-armoured stormtroopers raced past in urgent groups, powerless to fight back at the destruction going on all around them, yet their yells and pounding feet were utterly soundless. There was no dirt, nor a breeze to explain the scents still present.

Anakin took a breath, expecting it to be an impotent action. Only to find cool, crisp air slide easily into his lungs. There was no rasp of a respirator to accompany it. Confused, he looked down at himself and froze. He appeared to lying on a wooden pallet, but that wasn't what caused him to gape and stare. He was naked under a greyish-white sheet of cloth. There was no sign of his mask, black armour or life support system. In their place he had two arms, what looked like two legs under the covering, and an unmarred chest.

How could this be possible?

Bewildered, he held out his arms, twisting and turning them, and staring. The smooth skin, sinews and muscle felt alien to him. "What is going on?" he asked out loud.

No answer was forthcoming. He got to his feet, wrapping the sheet around his waist several times to cover his nakedness. As he did so, it occurred to him that he had never taken the time to consider what happened after death. At first he'd been too young and convinced of his invulnerability, and later he'd been a Sith.

Sith Lords only worry about the here and now.

Here and now was a part of his problem. "Where am I?" He expected no answer and was shocked when he got one.

"Don't worry about that. This is only an illusion that I thought might ease your transition. Your body is actually elsewhere."

An old man wearing Jedi robes was striding towards him. Seeing the familiar, smiling face, Anakin's heart leapt in his chest before being smothered by confusion. He'd been so disoriented he hadn't sensed his one-time mentor's approach. "Obi-Wan? I—what are you doing here?"

The smile grew wider, lighting warm blue eyes. "Hello, Anakin. It's been a long time."

"I wouldn't say it's been that long since our last encounter," he said stiffly, referring to their later, deadlier dual. The confusion didn't clear. Anakin had loved this man like a father for fourteen years, and then hated him as a betrayer and nemesis for twenty three more. The hate was gone, but the memories remained. His response had been knee-jerk and it shamed him. "I'm sorry," he added. "I shouldn't have said that."

Having found a shuttle to lean against with his arms negligently folded, Obi-Wan brushed off his apology. "No, no. I should be apologising to you. For one thing, I'm late."

Anakin quirked a brow. "You always were if I recall correctly."

"Occasionally," Obi-Wan conceded with a rueful smile. "But with you there to save the day without me it hardly mattered."

That statement threatened to drown him in both memories and remorse, so Anakin ignored it to ask, "What did you mean about this being an illusion? I don't understand."

"I'll be happy to explain it all to you." Obi-Wan pushed away from the shuttle's nose. "But first I suggest we move to somewhere a little less busy." He gestured towards the roof over their heads which was shaking ominously. "I have a feeling that thing is about to come down and while it won't hurt, it would certainly be distracting." He paused, then tacked on with a twitch of his lips, "Actually, I wouldn't mind seeing where Palpatine met his end, if you're willing?"

The request was no more surreal than the circumstances and so Anakin agreed. They wandered up towards the throne room, retracing the steps the dying Vader had taken with Luke. Around them the illusions of Imperial panic still raced pointlessly. As they walked, Obi-Wan began his rambling explanation.

"Your body is currently lying on that same pallet you woke up on here. Only instead of being inside this battle station, you're in what we think of as a way station between two entirely different planes of existence. It is known merely as the second world. The one below it is home to those who are considered irredeemable—a thoroughly unpleasant place. The one above is for the more enlightened beings. You, and many others like you, are in the middle." He continued before Anakin could think of a response. "In a very real way you're being given a second chance to decide your eventual fate."

The elevator that would take them up the tower to the throne room opened seamlessly. "My eventual fate being to go up or down?" asked Anakin as they moved inside. The doors shut again with a subdued hum.

"Exactly. However, I must warn you that there are real dangers in that place and to die again, before you are ready, would mean going straight down with no chance of an up."

Having arrived at their destination, the doors opened again. Anakin made no move to exit the enclosed space. "Atonement," he intoned, blankly, disbelievingly, "Is that what this is about?"

In the feeble light, Obi-Wan inclined his head in agreement. "Precisely."

"But that's insane," Anakin said flatly, whirling on his one-time master. "You of all people must know how impossible such a thing must be. The things I did—"

"A few days ago…no, mere hours ago, you would have said there was nothing to atone for; that everything you've done is to bring peace to the galaxy and maintain order. The fact that you feel differently now is definite progress in my eyes."

Anakin took no comfort from that statement. Pointedly, bitterly, he shot back, "You call it progress that I realised decades too late just how monstrous I had let myself become. I have no defence, no excuse. If Luke hadn't come here I might never have done so. How is that redemption?"

Agitated, Anakin stalked out into the blackness of the now empty throne room. He didn't notice the debris that now littered the walkway bridging the abyss that had swallowed the emperor. How to possibly explain the lure of the dark side of the Force, of an insidious craving for power that knew no limit, and the strength of a master who had literally lifted you out of the jaws of death and rebuilt you? It just wasn't possible, and neither was explaining its opposite—the self-abhorrence and remorse he'd felt upon his release from the emperor's influence.

Instead of answering, Obi-Wan followed and stopped at the rail over which Palapatine had been thrown. "It was this spot if memory serves me."

"You were watching?"

"I was cheering," Obi-Wan corrected, with a smile.

That image was heart-warming, but it changed nothing. "As I said, it was too little far too late. I should have killed him when I first found out what he was." Saving Padmé, saving himself and far too many others. Atonement couldn't possibly be further out of reach. Full of despair, Anakin shook his head and turned away, walking up the steps to the Dais holding the throne itself.

"Tell me why you killed your master?" requested Obi-Wan, changing the subject with his usual aplomb.

"To save my son and because I'd seen myself through his eyes—bad and good," Anakin told a patiently waiting Obi-Wan without looking at him. "I suppose it made me see things in another way. It cleared my mind. I didn't like what I saw."

"Then this shouldn't be too hard. You were an incredible Jedi once, Anakin. Many of us agree that you were the best of all of us in a lot of ways. Surely you remember the tremendous amount of good you did before your fall to the dark side."

_I am a Jedi, like my father before me_. Luke's statement in refusing the emperor, spoken right in this room, both soothed and goaded.

Memories of his previous Jedi existence had been repressed for too long to be easily, or painlessly, retrieved. Anakin was not up to digging them up just yet. "Atonement," he repeated, moving over to stare out of the webbed, circular viewport from which Luke had been forced to watch the battle between Alliance and Imperial ships. "You really believe it's possible for me?"

"You wouldn't be here otherwise." Silently, Obi-Wan closed the distance between them. "I believe in you. More importantly, there is no longer a destiny to get in the way. The Chosen One is done—finished. You accomplished what needed to be achieved and now it's up to Luke and the others."

The hand that settled on his shoulder was surprisingly solid, comforting and painfully familiar. "I failed you once before." Anakin had to swallow to finish, "I'm still that man. Worse, I've spent half my life consumed by darkness. My memories of being a Sith Lord are far clearer and stronger than that of my previous life. What if I can't forget and revert to the dark side?" He turned to the man who'd been both father and victim. "I'd hoped to end my existence on a good note." His voice held both complaint and plea. "I thought I was finished."

"By all accounts there was supposed to be no turning back from the dark side," countered Obi-Wan, softly. "Yet you found a way to love again right here in this accursed place. I once told Luke that his father had been killed by Darth Vader. Why not reverse it and start again…consider yourself reborn exactly as you were when you died and became him?" His smile was half wry and half amused as he waved his free hand at the reflection of Anakin's bare chest, "After all, you look the part. Better even."

That was news to Anakin. He'd been too concerned with other things to worry about his reflection. Now he did and it was like looking into a window to the past. He didn't just have an organic body back, but his youth as well. He'd been twenty three years old when he'd succumbed to the dark side, with scars already and a prosthetic arm—not anymore. Nonplussed and with simmering impatience, he shook his head, "I still think that this is impossible."

"I saw you achieve the impossible in this infernal Death Star. I have faith in you," said Obi-Wan, stepping away. "Now it's time that you found some in yourself."

None of this was making any sense. Unable to stop himself, Anakin turned to follow, arguing with the older man as he been wont to do as a frustrated padawan, "Love turned me to the dark side, how can you now say that it also saved me from it? It's contradictory"

"Perhaps, my linear loving friend, but it is also true. At the last minute love redeemed you from the mire of the dark side of the force." Folding his hands in front of him, Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head. "There were many and myriad reasons why Palpatine was able to corrupt you. The Jedi order must take some of the blame too. We—I—underestimated your capacity and desire for love. That was our first mistake, but there was another. We also failed to realise that our fear of love was in itself a weakness. The emperor exploited that. He knew that you would have no-one to turn to with your fears for Padmé."

"That is an oversimplification."

"You'll have plenty of time to meditate on the more complex elements on the second world. Understanding where we went wrong is an essential step to redemption."

Anakin didn't know what to say, so the silence lengthened.

Obi-Wan broke it. "I have to go soon and so do you for that matter. Apart from anything else, this battle station is well overdue blowing up into a million tiny smithereens." He smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry about where you are going. Even as we speak there is an old woman called Tenku waiting for you to wake up. With any luck, she'll have some clothing for you, but first I want to give you this."

From beneath his voluminous robes, he pulled out a large drawstring bag and held it out. "As I said before, the second world is a dangerous, treacherous place. I don't doubt that you'll need it."

Anakin could only stare at it, sensing the crystals inside. "You're giving me a lightsaber?" As before he felt for a brief, dizzying moment that the dark years had never happened and he was merely taking a gift from his mentor and friend. It only lasted a moment before reality once again intruded.

"Consider it an aid to meditation," smiled Obi-Wan. "Besides, you really will need it."

Finally reaching out to take the heavy bag, Anakin was embarrassed to feel his eyes burn. He had to duck his head to hide the telling reaction. Inside, uncertainty churned with fear. "Will you come and talk to me again?" he asked finally, hating the thought of being alone.

"If I can I will." Turning to go, Obi-Wan hesitated, apparently debating with himself and then turned back, his face grave. "I have one more warning for you. Padmé is there too, Anakin."

"Padmé?" The shock of it stole his breath, then the implication sank in. "How so? She was blameless—"

Holding up a hand to still the heated protest, Obi-Wan explained, "Once the children were safe, she exiled herself there rather than constantly see you as Vader. Believe me, there were attempts to persuade her to change her mind, but she was too distraught to listen. She blamed herself for the unwitting part she'd played in your downfall. She's still there and has no idea about your imminent arrival. I thought you should know."

o~o~o

He woke to soft rain soaking the sheet-shroud draped over his body. One again he smelled earth and living matter. Lifting his hand, Anakin pulled the cloth away from his face and sat up.

He found himself at a crossroads converging two primitive dirt paths. Walls of towering forest pressed in on all sides. The bag Obi-Wan had given him was clutched tightly in his left hand. He lifted it, testing its weight. "So I wasn't dreaming."

"You're dead," replied a harsh voice. He jerked his head up and focussed on where the voice had come from. There, a few feet away, squatted an old crone with tufts of white hair framing a face the colour of ancient parchment. "And before you ask—you can't go back. Get used to it."

That he hadn't sensed her immediately bothered him. He frowned. "I knew that."

"So, why ask if you're dreaming then?"

"I didn't ask if I was dreaming. I said I wasn't dreaming."

"So did I."

Dismissing her before his temper went orbital, Anakin inspected his arms and legs, running his hands over his face and hair, checking that what he'd seen in his vision was in actual fact true. It seemed so and it still baffled him.

The crone cackled at seeing him inspect himself. "What's the matter, got blasted to pieces did you?" With surprising nimbleness, she got to her feet and ambled creakily over. "Well, and so what if you did? You can hardly come through to this side in little itty bits can you? What good would that do anyone, eh?"

"I suppose." Frowning, Anakin tried to marshal his thoughts and adjust. What had Obi-Wan said was the woman's name? Tenku or something? He hadn't paid enough attention to be sure. It seemed more efficient to ask than get it wrong. "What's your name old woman?"

"Ha, listen to you." She gave a derisive snort." Maybe I don't want to give you my name, oh demanding one."

He'd become too used to instant, fearful obedience, Anakin realised when his first instinct was to punish her defiance. While they glared at each other, he worked on loosening the muscles that had tightened with rage. He was no longer Darth Vader, but knowing it and feeling it would take some time to mesh.

Instead of fear, he saw amusement slide in bird-like black eyes as she shuffled closer and canted her head. "You look like you're thinking of snapping my scrawny neck, young one. Are you?"

Despite the lingering dark rage, Anakin's lips twitched, "Maybe."

She gave another, longer cackle and eyes buried deep in a wrinkle-folded face gleamed. "I could tell you I'm not worth the trouble, but you don't know me well enough to know if that's true. My name is Tenku." She tossed a bundle of rags at him. "Here's your clothing. Get dressed and I'll take you to where you need to go. Hurry, it's going to be dark soon."

o~o~o

It was a jungle planet and the rainforest seemed to go on for hours. Ground cover was sparse as the towering trees almost totally blocked out the sun. Tenku had told him there were large settlements dotted all over the place. The nearest one was called Junga Roth and it was within a half hour walk. Anakin trudged along behind the old woman in his borrowed brown pants, scuffed brown boots and oatmeal-coloured tunic. The leather utility belt Obi-Wan had put in the bag along with the lightsaber was already coming in handy.

Under the canopy of dense tree foliage, the heat and humidity was thick and cloying, but his mind wasn't on his surroundings.

It felt odd to be in Obi-Wan's debt. Too much had passed between them for it all to be swept away so easily. Still, Anakin reasoned, he was grateful for a lot of things, and he had to admit that his old mentor had trained his son well. Luke had told him to let go of his hate and he had done, but the rancour had left deep scars that had to be smoothed out before he was free of it completely.

Irrational it may have been, but the emperor's new apprentice had blamed his old master for all of it; Padmé turning from him, Vader's own anger that had led to Padmé's death, and finally his imprisonment in a cybernetic shell. He'd fed that anger with despair and nourished it into a cold, hard, vengeful hate that had served him well as a Sith lord. Now it was gone, but two decades was far too long to stretch back to a former friendship and heal it instantly. Even if a part of him yearned for it.

It didn't matter. He had another former relationship to worry about.

Padmé. He had thought her gone forever. How could he face her?

Despite the heat, cold sweat dripped down his back at the thought. Fate had chosen to return him to the way he'd looked when he'd broken her with his anger, would she look the same too? Did it matter? No, it didn't, he decided and he was afraid to face her. The same span of years bridged this love as for that of Obi-Wan, but it was vastly different. Vader had brooded over his old master's perceived betrayal, twisting it over the years. Padmé had been locked away, fresh and untouched, until now. Twenty days may as was well have passed instead of twenty years. Would the first part of his atonement be to see the wife he'd loved too much look on him with abhorrence? He wouldn't blame her if she did, but he didn't think he could bear it.

A finger jab to the middle of his right arm jerked him out of his anguished thoughts. The odd pair halted and Tenku planted her hands on her hips. "You won't last long here if you don't pay attention, boy. It'd be a pity to see that pretty face ripped off by a Narzgh just before they dragged you off to join them in the pit."

The admonishment was just—and the distraction welcome—so Anakin merely scowled at Tenku and started walking again, asking, "What is a Narzgh?"

She was forced to trot beside him to keep up with his longer strides. "A demon that was once like us, or whatever species it was originally," she told him, chillingly matter-of-fact. "They come from the lowest world and hate any who live above. Unfortunately for us, this hatred is virulent and strong. Through it they have found numerous ways of splintering the veils between us to raid our homes and snatch us away."

The hairs on Anakin's arms rose at the mention of beings who used hate to make themselves powerful; just like a Sith. "What kind of weapons do they use?"

She shrugged a bony shoulder that started a sea-change in the rags she'd draped herself in. "Whatever comes to hand, the same as us." He knew she hadn't finished answering when she slid him a sly sidelong glance. "Except for the ones that carry those." She pointed to his lightsaber. "They're the worst and even the other Narzgh fall prey to them if they get in the way."

That information had him slowing to a crawl again. The lightsaber wearing Narzgh could only be dead dark Jedi or Sith, Anakin thought numbly. He'd almost been one of them. He still could be.

Ice settled in the pit of his stomach and radiated out with cold fingers. "Why do they want to take you? What's the point?"

"There is no point." The look she gave him suggested he was either slow or stupid for thinking there should be. "They are obscene and unnatural, driven mad in the pit and wishing to share that torture with us. Share and share alike. Pain begets pain. Yadda Yadda Yadda. It is also said that they are always ravenous and their appetites are not just about food."

"That's…horrible. Thanks for sharing that with me." Anakin shuddered, disgusted and appalled.

She shrugged again. "You asked, I answered."

Unwilling to pursue the topic, he changed it, "Are there any other…lightsaber wielders among your own people?"

"Not in Junga Roth, but I can't say about the other cities. There are a lot of dead people here and we don't all socialise. I wouldn't do too much of that yourself or you're liable to get your fingernails stolen just for the fun of it. Thievery is a common past-time here and so is fighting and lots of other nastiness." Tenku grinned, revealing several gaps in her teeth. "We're not exactly a big happy family, or we'd be in the first world."

Anakin bared his teeth in a reciprocal grin entirely lacking in warmth. "I appreciate the warning, but I assure you I don't need it."

Seeing his cold grin, her own faded and the expression on her face was, for once, not mocking, but considering. Saying nothing more, they continued making their way through the gloomy wall of heat.

o~o~o

The rainforest gradually started to thin, allowing a dense tangle of vines, shrubs and smaller trees to grow. Pushing his way through behind Tenku, Anakin was reminded of the jungle Moon of Yavin 4 and his duel with Asajj Ventress, a dark Jedi with ambitions of becoming a Sith. The fact that he'd later fallen in the same way made the association distinctly unpleasant. The first sight of habitation came as a welcome distraction, and another big surprise.

Standing at the top of a steep downward incline, he stared down into a valley. He'd been expecting a rough-and-ready settlement several steps down in civilisation from what he'd known on the desert moon of Tatooine. What he saw was a large, fortified city spreading out far and wide and complete with airspeeders and transport ships buzzing around like bugs. Under a bright sun, the city shimmered, surrounded by the dark, ever-widening ring of dense, green jungle.

"You weren't wrong about the dead being numerous," he told Tenku.

"People have been dying since the dawn of time. What do you expect, eh?"

As he looked down on the city, Padmé once again intruded on his thoughts. Was she down there? Could he find her? Did he want to find her? Anakin didn't need to search his feelings. Fear and longing swamped him.

TBC

NOTE (3): You will have probably noticed that while Padmé is referenced a fair bit in this chapter, she isn't physically present. I promise that will change.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

NOTES

(1) Huge thanks to my betas YellowDart and NikeJ for all of their excellent help—much appreciated.

(2)I have to give a big shout-out to Wookiepedia for the excellent source of facts about the Star Wars verse. I've used it lots, so it deserves a mention.

(3)Also, I've drafted in an old friend from another fandom to act as an extra in the next chapter (three)—you'll probably know who I mean when you come across him—there is no infringement intended, it's just fanfic etc etc *g*.

**CHAPTER TWO**

"He's gone too far this time."

Padmé Amidala strode down the grand corridor of Roth's palatial palace. Wall friezes showing spirits moving joyously up to the first-world lined both sides. Behind them, the premier's officials were exiting the audience chamber, splitting off to resume their duties. Surrounded by the usual bowing sycophants, Lyonides himself was getting ready to board his shuttle, embarking on yet another 'trade' negotiation with the Geonosians of Lona Naxivio for more droids.

She was furious and her thoughts were an angry whirl. Things were just as bad here as on the other side—the social elite were pampered and protected while the common people suffered. It was indefensible, barbaric. All in a good days work for Lyonides, she thought savagely.

Tyrant.

With every step, her fists became as tightly clenched as her jaw. She cast one of her escorts a hard, glittering look. "This totalitarian state has to end, Saber. You know that as well as I do. There is no discussion, no debate. Only his rule."

Short, balding and nervous, Saber Throm glanced nervously around, hissing, "Councillor Amidala, please! You must start practicing discretion."

"I tried that before and it doesn't work," she dismissed, softening it with a smile. "Lyonides knows how I feel, anyway—"

"Of course he does, because you never try to hide it." Throm had to mop the sweat from his brow and his hand shook. "He's indulged you on many occasions…"

Padmé halted so abruptly that her voluminous skirts bristled. Now it was her turn to interrupt. "Indulged me! All I've done is petition him for the barest levels of comfort for the ordinary people—for the newcomers. The dead come here mourning for the living just as much as the living do for the dead. The world as they know it—their very lives have ended. They're lost and terrified. They need our support." She flung out her hands, furious, "And, all Lyonides cares about is automating everything and amassing an army." Agitated, she started walking again. "He can pontificate all he likes in public, everyone knows he doesn't care about anyone but himself. He's trading souls for a set of blasters on legs."

"Personally, I think he's baiting you." Councillor Oboné was a big-boned, ebony-skinned woman with a deep, resonant voice. "He can't really mean to trade all of our surplus minerals for those ghastly battle droids—there would be even more riots."

"Politically, it's a tricky issue," agreed Throm. "The people know we need better defences and Lyonides has a fair few convinced that droids would be more effective than troops in fighting off Narzgh raids. Then there's the golden promise of increased output from the mines, thus allowing him to finally purchase the extra energy cells we need to extend the barrier."

"False promises, all of it," said Padmé. "We know too well that blasters have a limited effect, and he could have bought the cells already if he was really planning to. In the meantime, people in the outer rim are little more than bait—and they know it. It's why they riot."

"To some people, the cost of losing a percentage of the population to achieve greater security is acceptable," pointed out Oboné.

Knowing it was true, Padmé grimaced. "Only so long as it is not they who are living beyond the rain shield, of course."

"Of course." Oboné smiled.

Four tiny housekeeping droids zoomed up and passed their feet, chittering and squawking. It broke the tight tableau.

"Come," said Throm, his bald pate shining anew. "Let us not linger. Lyonides' spies are everywhere, particularly in the palace."

They turned for the Thousand Year steps, famous throughout the city for the monolithic stone statue of a female figure, raising her arms to break the chains that bound her. Just another useless platitude in place of true freedom. "So, you think he means to discredit me for opposing the plan?" Padmé prompted Oboné. The same thought had occurred to her.

"Many will take his insinuations more seriously if they feel that you are not taking their dearest concerns to heart." Oboné's huge shoulders, swathed in white robes, lifted in a shrug. "It is hardly surprising that Lyonides wants your reputation tarnished; you are just as much a thorn in his side as you were in his fathers before him."

With concern written all over his face, Throm took it further in reminding her, "He tried to have you assassinated if you recall. He's serious in his intentions of ridding himself of you."

"Maybe, but we don't know for certain that it was Lyonides." Smiling and patting his arm, Padmé shook her head. "And, I've been targeted by assassins before so this is nothing new. Our illustrious Premier is adept at putting on a façade, but I've learned how to see past that. He's not giving off any signals that concern me, other than his usual selfish posturing and lies, that is."

"We might not know it was him," argued Throm, sombre, afraid but loyal, "But he has influence with the more prominent citizens, and convinced them of the need to crack down the on the darker elements of the outer rim. Never forget that he has many friends and advocates, and is unparalleled at keeping his own counsel. He certainly did when he assisted his father to an early second demise. I tell you, if it wasn't for your fearsome Wookiee friend here, I wouldn't sleep at night."

At his statement, there was a roar of approval from behind Padmé's right shoulder. Turning her head, she forced a smile at the towering Wookiee who'd adopted her—or rather they'd adopted each other, "Thank you, Freyrr."

They stepped out from the shade of the palace into sunshine. Soft and golden light bathed the extensive, ornamental palace gardens ahead of them and, over the encircling balcony, you could see the commerce and finance district, sitting twelve storey's below. Here and there, spirals of black smoke still rose; stark evidence of the recent, desperate demonstrations that had ended in bloody riots only hours before. Twelve hundred dead and many more wounded. The nearest medical centres were on full alert, and so were the enforcement teams. The blast shields ringing the inner core of the city were down, preventing passage from the beleaguered outer rim—containing the fear and suffering in the very place that engendered it.

She wanted to do so much more, but had to content herself with taking the fight to the top.

Turning back to Throm and Oboné her smile faded. "Don't worry about me, Throm. I've learned to take care of myself." Her gaze switched to the far-distant forest spreading out beyond the decrepit outermost edges of the city, vast and primal. "Worry about what is going to happen now that the rainy season is approaching and half the city is once again left unprotected."

Understanding, Councillor Oboné laid a hand on Padmé's shoulder. "We have another appointment with the Premier the day after tomorrow; maybe he will have more time to listen then."

"He'd better. If possible, he's worse than his father. I can't decide if he's merely utterly corrupt and self-seeking or genuinely evil." Padmé knew she sounded grim. She had a bad feeling about the future and, no matter what she tried, she couldn't shake it. The suspicion hovered at the edge of her mind that something awful was about to happen, but when she tried to pin the nebulous feeling down, it just grew less substantial.

_Please let me be wrong about this_._ Please. I've seen enough torment and hopelessness, felt it. I can't stand any more. It has to end._

o~o~o

Junga Roth wasn't all that different from other cities Anakin had been to in his life, but it was certainly no Coruscant. Jutting up into the sky were the usual cloud-scraping towers and spires that made the ground level superfluous to all but the street vermin. In her usual blunt style, Tenku had given him the low-down as they approached. The city was laid out in circular districts, with the privileged living atop commercial and city administration centres, conveniently close to core services and occupying the heavily protected centre. Everything else ringed it. The remaining five million inhabitants were spread in circles of ever decreasing wealth with the poorest and least 'productive' citizens living nearest the edges. Newcomers occupied the outer rim—fresh fodder for the Narzgh. If you lived long enough to save some money and bribe your way into a 'core' occupation, then you could move deeper into the city.

They entered through a thick, studded metal gate built into the perimeter wall of the city. The wall itself was several standard feet thick and supported by thick buttresses. It was pandemonium on the other side. Pedestrian and speeder traffic was heavy and virtually unmanaged, choking the converging street from all angles. The noise was incredible, and the atmosphere rank with a dull panic as the sun began to drop. Worker droids similar to the PK's Anakin had seen in life were scurrying around spreading what looked like sand. Nobody paid them any attention, including the band of armoured guards preparing to shut the massive gates. Directly on the left was a long, squat, bland and windowless building that he was told served as both processing centre and temporary shelter for the newly dead. Tenku left him there and disappeared back into the crowds thronging the streets.

The first, fat drops of rain splattered the gritty street as Anakin walked inside. His footsteps echoed on the bare stone floor of the long, artificially lit anteroom. At the end stood a blue humanoid-shaped droid holding a datalink, ostensibly barring the door at the end. As Anakin approached, the droid looked him up and down.

If it could have scowled, it would have done so. "What are you doing in here? You're not allowed to use this entrance. This is for the registration of new citizens only."

Great, a snotty droid with delusions of authority, he thought and halted in front of it. "I am new. I've just come in from the outside. I was told I had to come here."

"But…" it looked him up and down again, confused, "…you're wearing clothes."

"A habit of mine," he replied dryly.

"Did you steal them?" the droid asked, its electronic voice sounding scandalised, "Stealing is a crime punishable by overnight banishment, you know?"

"I didn't steal them. I was given them." Deliberately, Anakin took a step closer, his expression cold and with the lightsaber hidden under the tunic. "Why don't you just tell me where I'm supposed to go and save us both more unnecessary aggravation?"

Getting the message, the droid hurriedly gestured to the doors behind it. "Through there. Join a queue."

"Thank you."

The twin doors slid back automatically at his approach and Anakin did a double-take at what he saw on the other side. Ten dozen processing consoles manned by more droids were ranged on the far left of a cavernous, soulless hall. Snaking out from them were long queues of naked, shivering sentients—mostly human. There were thousands of them and ranged in age from late teens to centennials. Under the harsh glare of phosphorescent panels built into the low ceiling, many of them were weeping and close to hysterical, while others stood glassy-eyed and vacant. Standing apart as he was, they appeared so cowering, weak and helpless that Anakin wondered for a moment how humanity had managed to attain such a powerful hold over the galaxy. Stripped to the skin, they were nothing.

It embarrassed him to be the same species.

The savagely derisive thought, and accompanying feeling of arrogant superiority, chilled him to the bone; proof that the Sith he'd been still lived. He felt a quick, vicious twist of guilt and self-abhorrence. Where was compassion now? Granted, this may be a grotesque production line of flawed beings, but he was the most flawed of all, he told himself grimly. With more patience than he would have managed without the guilt, he joined the nearest line, smiled at the starkly terrified man in front of him, and waited to reach the front.

When it was his turn, the droid didn't even look up. "Name?"

He'd expected the question and considered lying. He didn't, because he could foresee a time when such a lie would be exposed. "Anakin Skywalker."

Pointing to the square, black screen tilted towards Anakin, the droid instructed, "Place your hand firmly on the palm reader, please. Press hard and keep it there while the scanning takes place."

He did as he was told, spreading his fingers to match the etched diagram on the reader. A green light flashed across the dull, smudged plasto under his palm. His prints would now be on record, he thought. Would Padmé find out about his arrival through this one act? Would she hide? Seek him out, or expose him as the murderer of thousands?

The droid interrupted his bleak musings. "Very good. Date of birth and home planet prior to death."

"41.9 BBY. Home planet Coruscant."

"Age is 45 then." The droid finally looked up, and paused. "You appear young for your age, human Skywalker. I should warn you that it is in direct violation of city code to lie during processing."

He definitely didn't like these droids. Anakin enjoyed the fantasy of using one good force-shove to send this pile of metal and chips into the wall behind it, turning it into scrap. "In that case, it's a good thing that I'm not lying, isn't it? Just consider me well-preserved," he said.

The blue head tilted, silently considering him further, "You're also wearing clothes."

Impatience simmered hotter, he banked it. "A point on which I've already explained myself to your friend at the door. I met someone on the way here, and she gave me the clothes. I thanked her and we parted ways. It's as simple as that."

It was also more or less the truth.

A few more beats passed before the droid finally dropped its electronic gaze, saying, "You are more fortunate than most."

"I'm getting that picture." Others were being herded past him clutching stained, musk-smelling rags that made his own thin, scratchy clothing look like shimmer-silk in comparison.

"Regardless of your luck, I am programmed to give you your allotted covering." Grimacing, Anakin had no choice but to take the meagre pile, consisting of grey tunic and pants. The droid wasn't finished. "Your number is 3ABYC265675901. Do not forget it, or you will not be able to claim the rest of the benefits allocated to new arrivals. Temporary accommodation is available for a maximum of ten standard days. Do you require accommodation?"

After confirming that he did, Anakin was directed to a bank of elevators through another set of grey sliding doors. As he walked towards them, he heard a recorded message played over the intercoms. The voice was huskily female and designed to be soothing; it might have worked if it wasn't looped to run continuously. 'Welcome to Junga Roth. Newcomers are advised that ALL reflective surfaces are prohibited. Water is to be kept in opaque containers only. Remember, spills must be dealt with INSTANTLY and reported to the nearest housekeeping droid. Quator sand is kept in easy-to-use automatic chutes on every floor of the accommodation block. Welcome to Junga Roth. Newcomers are advised…'

He wondered about a city paranoid about water being set right in the middle of a rainforest.

o~o~o

(Three weeks later)

Pilas Lyonides didn't hold the title of king. He didn't need to. At less than 1.7 metres tall and a stingy one-hundred and thirty pounds, he was a small and trim man with a neat head of greying black hair. He wore rich, finely decorated tunics and fine-tooled leather boots that belied his beginnings on the smuggling haven that was the planet Socorro on the outer rim of the galaxy. He'd died only moments after his father, Petris Lyonides, and followed him to the second world. Ruthless by nature, cunning by necessity, and with a survival instinct that rivalled any in the galaxy, the Lyonides family had scrabbled their way to the top and stayed there for over a century. He'd seen this city burn, its people ravaged to the last thousand, and was more than resigned to the fact that it would likely happen again. Personally, he had no intention of dying again because he knew he'd be going straight down.

Not today. Not ever.

Now, he stood surrounded by those equally greedy for power, and they feared him: except for one irritating exception. He turned to her now. "I lived for forty-four years; and I've been dead for one-hundred and fifty more. I think I've got a few years on you, Councillor. I know what my people need. So, why do you persist in preaching at me?"

In anyone else, the last soft-voiced question would have raised a bone-deep chill. Ministers and aides seated in the five-tiered, encircling benches exchanged glances, shifting uncomfortably as yet another confrontation arose between their volatile leader and the contentious Councillor Amidala. With his hands behind his back, Lyonides kept pacing, prowling around the outer edges of the floor. He rarely, if ever, sat down, not even to eat.

Padmé kept her countenance calm. "I'll save my preaching and get to the point then. We don't need more droids. What we do need is more energy cells so that the barrier can be extended to cover the whole city. It is the only, and the best, way to protect all of our people."

It was a risky move. Lyonides hated to be challenged directly, considering it an attack and reacting accordingly. If there were murmurs of agreement from any of the other sixty people present, they were too scared to make them audible. The atmosphere tightened as the entire chamber held its collective breath.

The explosion didn't come.

Rather than answer her himself, Lyonides glared expressively at his security minister, prompting the man to respond. Guil Natar got to his feet. "Really, what good will extending the barrier really do, Councillor Amidala? We can hardly cover the entire forest and they would only attack our outer perimeters harder, and push deeper if they…." He petered off, raising his hands in a telling gesture, leaving the rest of his statement hanging.

"If they don't get easy pickings from the outer rim of the city," Padmé finished for him regardless, her expression twisted with distaste. She kept her seat, barely. "You truly disgust me, Nater."

Standing between them with his booted feet spread on grey-veined marble, Lyonides snorted, cold blue eyes alive with amusement at the seething anger arcing between his lackey and his nemesis. "Natar is head of security for the city, my dear. Tough decisions have to be made." He inclined his head mockingly at Padmé, pointing out, "You're supposed to despise him, or he isn't doing his job?"

"In that case he's doing an excellent job—in that, if nothing else."

"I agree with Councillor Amidala," announced Oboné, shifting forward to enter the debate.

This time the audience chamber came alive with mutterings. Lyonides overrode it all with a hard smile. "I'd be more surprised if you didn't—the same for you Throm. As it happens, you can all hold your tongues as I've already sent the shipment to the Geonosians. The deal is struck and can't be broken." He glanced questioningly at a gangling, grey-skinned Muun swathed in the traditional black shawl of his people. "In fact, I'm expecting the ship to be back…when exactly?"

"Later this evening, my lord," said Bac Gon, amending it to add, "If all goes well, of course. The Geonosians are hardly trustworthy."

o~o~o

"Have you ever flown a Lemidian before?"

The voice was deep and gravelly and suited the owner's short, barrel-chested frame. Acting as co-pilot, Anakin glanced over at him. "It's not that different from the early Corellian YG freighters. I'll manage."

The pilot, Sal Trent, didn't look reassured. Black eyes squinted suspiciously in a severely pock-marked face. "We'll be picking up a lot of expensive cargo at Lona, and I don't plan on doing all the flying, so I hope you'll do better than manage, kid."

That earned Sal a longer, icier look. "I'm not a kid."

"Whatever. So long as we deliver our cargo and pick-up Lyonides' droids without a hitch, I don't give a crap." Sal got on with flipping switches, checked the resulting readouts while the ships' engines warmed up. Under his breath, he muttered, "Forty five my ass."

Anakin let it go. He was learning to let a lot of things go. Some things were easier than others. Lack of sleep didn't help. His sleeping hours were plagued by nightmares—a mish-mash of memories that burned right through to his soul. As Vader he'd learned not to dwell, to forget the past and live purely in the present, rarely feeling guilt or remorse and concentrating solely on an objective. Now, he had no discernible objective, and he was powerless not to dwell. It was as if Vader's mask had kept it all at bay, and with it gone he was helpless to prevent the overdue tide. The solace of meditation was also being frustratingly elusive. The forest on the other side of the perimeter wall bothered him. It was primordial and the sheer mass of living matter condensed the Force incredibly, battering his mind with its power every time he attempted to meditate.

He blamed it on having a fully organic body again after spending so long as only half a man. He'd had no idea how much of his power he'd lost on Mustafar; until now when it coursed remorselessly through him. It was a blast of noise instead of a controlled whisper—disorientingly powerful.

Then there was Padmé.

She was in the city; he could feel her. The certainty of it was a tremor in his heart.

"Did you say something?"

Jerked out of his thoughts, Anakin frowned. "What?"

"I asked you if you said something. I thought you did."

Had he said something? "I didn't say anything," he denied flatly. "You're imagining things."

Those black eyes seemed to bore right into his head. Keen intelligence and a bad attitude made for a strange combination in this man. "Whatever you say, kid. By the way, we're almost there." A mirthless smile curved Sal's lips. "It's nice to have some company for a change. You can't get better than stimulating conversation to pass the time, huh?"

Anakin ignored the sarcasm. "We're there…already?"

"Well, I guess _you_ weren't bored. I'll have to learn to zone out like that." Sal gestured at the ship-wide cockpit viewport. "Look your fill; Lona Noxivio in all its repellently noxious, bug-like glory."

Below them, the crater of a volcano grew wider and deeper. The hives inside it were already visible. "I hope that thing's still active," said Anakin, earning a chuckle from the other pilot.

"You and me both, only not while we're in there. Come on. Let's get this 'trade mission' over and done with."

The Limidian lowered into the crater and then aimed for a deep fissure in the volcanic rock. The fissure turned out to be a hidden docking hanger. Landing and turning off the sub-light engines, Sal released the hatch, and together they walked down the ramp. Without the benefit of the freighter's air conditioning, the stench of sulphur was eye-wateringly strong. Stepping off the ramp onto smooth and hewn rock, Anakin saw with no surprise that the set-up was strongly reminiscent of the Geonosian home planet. The hanger went deep into the rock with numerous tunnels leading off. Wingless warriors carrying pike staffs and sonic blasters patrolled the tunnels and the hanger bay. Several of the worker-caste were working on the various ships docked inside. It occurred to Anakin to wonder if Poggle the Lesser was here—the Archduke and separatist leader whom he'd executed on Palpatine's order.

Wouldn't that be interesting?

"Pay attention and no sight-seeing," instructed Sal, low-voiced. "We've got a job to do, and I want it done fast so that we can get out of here."

Anakin had no inclination to argue. "I'm all for that."

They headed for the nearby stack of sealed metal containers. Anakin estimated there were about a hundred, and each was twice his height. In front of them stood a Geonosian delegation, complete with a protocol droid painted a dull, rusty red. As Sal and Anakin approached, the Geonosian in front started making the usual unintelligible clicking noises that constituted their language.

The droid translated and likely ad-libbed to make the greeting pleasant, "Good morning, pilots of Junga Roth. We hope that you had a swift and uneventful journey?"

"It was fine," said Sal, faking a smile and making his scarred face twice as unattractive. He nodded at the containers. "I've got your mineral, are those my droids?"

The protocol droid seemed shocked by his shortness, then resigned, "Oh…well, yes, certainly."

"Good. Let's swap." His meagre store of civility already depleted, Sal turned on his heel and went back to the Limidian. There was a recessed control panel built next to the exterior cargo hatch. When the lever was pulled another hatch opened, releasing a smaller and more robust ramp—perfect for loader droids on durasteel rollers.

Less than one standard hour later, the unloading was complete and the loading very nearly so. Everything seemed to be going well. Standing watch, Anakin couldn't shake a nagging feeling of looming danger. The awareness of it quivered up his spine to sit uneasily on his brain. Irritation bloomed when he couldn't pin it down no matter how deeply he searched for the source.

The protocol droid came over with an offer of refreshment before take-off. Curtly declining, he waved it away. He watched it walk stiffly back to the Geonosians and pass on his refusal. They didn't seem perturbed.

Something was definitely off.

Finally, the last container was being loaded onto the Limidian. Sal followed it in to make sure everything was secure. At the same moment another container came trundling out onto the hanger bay floor directly opposite their ship. The prickles of alarm escalated, raising the hair on the back of Anakin's neck. Standing between the container and the Limidian and using the Force, he zeroed in, scanning it. Certainty followed. He knew he'd found the source of the danger.

It was a front-loading container about two meters in height. Raising his right hand, he gave a sharp twist in mid-air. Still twenty metres away from him the slide-front of the container ripped up so fast the metal gave a protesting screech, startling everyone.

Inside stood half a dozen armoured humanoids bearing heavy blaster carbines.


	3. Chapter 3

(1) Thanks once again to YellowDart and NikeJ for the wonderful job they're doing of beta.

(2) Just to remind again that I've drafted in an old friend from another fandom to act as an extra—you'll probably know who I mean when you come across him—there is no infringement intended. Lorne belongs to Joss Whedon and co…it's just fanfic etc etc *g*.

(3) Last, but not least, I've used a fight move from one of my favourite movies—Serenity. If you've seen it, you may recognise it.

**CHAPTER THREE**

Midway to reaching for his lightsaber, Anakin froze. _Did he really want it general knowledge that he had it_?

Everyone else froze too, then Sal gave a shout, the Geonosian elite and the droid dived for cover, and the would-be ambushers tried to recover the situation by coming out blasting. On the right of the hanger a troop of Geonosian warriors scuttled closer, raising their sonic weapons and aiming straight for Anakin. Instinct took over and spinning to meet them, he used a Force-push to swat them away. Another twist of the Force brought him one of the sonic blasters from the nearest fallen warrior. Deadly red blaster bolts were coming in thick and fast. Diving and coming up in a roll, Anakin let loose with the blaster, returning fire at the humanoids, and heard Sal yell to him, "Get inside and fire her up! I'll cover you and follow."

Firing another couple of rapid-fire shots at their ambusher to get them scrambling out of the way, Anakin sprinted for the ramp, dodging return fire as he pounded up and inside. Cursing and lunging for the pilot seat, he started flipping switches and activated the control stick. The sub-light engine started with a roar. Around and over him, the ship shuddered as the hull was repeatedly hit. A moment later, he heard a thud from the rear of the cockpit as Sal fell inside, only just keeping his balance. Ashen-faced, grim and with a fresh, fiery weal above his right eye, the older man lurched into the co-pilot's seat just as Anakin lifted the Limidian off the hanger-bay floor.

"Hold on to something," Anakin yelled.

Blaster fire thickened as their attackers realised they were about to lose their quarry. A sonic blast rocked them hard enough to set off the inertial balance alarms.

There was no time for finesse. A side-swipe manoeuvre aimed at the remaining ambushers took care of a few more, and then they were roaring towards the hanger-bay exit. Too late. Blast shields were sliding inexorably across, ready to cut off their only escape.

"Break off. We're not gonna make it," yelled Sal, bracing himself as best as he could.

Anakin didn't so much as blink and pushed for more speed. "Oh, yes, we are."

Out of nowhere, one of the loader droids went rocketing past the cockpit viewport as if shot from a catapult. It smashed into the blast door controls. The heavy alloy doors came to a juddering halt just far apart enough for the Limidian to scrape through.

Weak and in pain or not, Sal managed to slide him an incredulous look, "Screw coincidence. I don't suppose you want to explain to me how you do that?"

"Not really, no," said Anakin. Rising steeply until they were above the crater, he banked left and accelerated with an urgency that strained the engine and earned him an automatic warning from the ships computer, '_warning, engine at one hundred and twenty percent. Reduce velocity now_'. Anakin ignored it, saying, "Besides, I don't think we're out of the woods yet." He tossed Sal a grim smile. "Our unofficial welcoming committee didn't look Geonosian, and I don't imagine they walked."

As if to prove his words, the Limidian shuddered violently. "And there's our pursuit."

There was no tactical display on the ship, but there was a holo designed to pinpoint damage or technical problems. Right now, it was flashing a bright orange in the area designed for the right side engine block, indicating that fire suppression systems were in operation. In tandem a low, distinctly irritating alarm started frantically buzzing from the overhead panels.

Trouble wasn't limited to the hull. Buckled into his seat, Sal was grey now. "I hate to do this to you, kid, but I think I'm going to conk out on you. Sorry."

Anakin didn't have time to reply as the controls danced alarmingly in his hands, threatening to send them all crashing to the surface should he let his focus stray. Cursing louder, he decided he couldn't worry about the man now. If they crashed or got shot to pieces a few blaster wounds would be the least of their combined problems.

Worst of all, he was blind to the enemy unless they moved right in front of him, and they had no cannons or armament of any kind. They were weak, helpless and an easy target. Not good.

Reaching out with the Force, he searched for and found their pursuers with an ease that sent a thrill buzzing through his system. He wasn't blind after all: he could actually picture it—a mid-range, light-armoured interceptor fighter. He saw twin cannons mounted under the wings spit deadly streaks of light.

In a risky move considering its size, Anakin sent the Limidian into a cumbersome double-roll that wasn't pretty, but did the job of avoiding another laser strike. The fighter closed in. He could feel the other pilot's frustration at not having brought them down yet. Frustration was good, because it caused mistakes. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to let the enemy's emotion flare hotter. Slamming open the flaps, he reversed all thrusters in an attempt to rapidly decelerate and disorient the fighter. The Limidian shuddered harder, protesting the move while he wracked his brains on how to fight back. The manoeuvrability of the ship he was flying was a joke, and he was already risking an over-heated engine. More blips of orange, and some red, joined the first on the Limidian's Ops holo. The warning buzzers were reaching a cacophony.

One thing was certain: if this chase went on much longer they were toast. Just to his right, the fighter overshot them with only a meter or two to spare.

The pitiless landscape of dense forest thinned as the ground rose, flashing past and underneath the labouring freighter. An unconscious Sal was suddenly a good thing as a plan formed in Anakin's mind. It was both stupid and reckless, but he couldn't see another alternative. Puffing out a breath, he muttered, "Okay, let's find somewhere to land."

It took precious seconds to find a clearing big enough, and the landing was bumpy to say the least. Thrown forward against the flight deck controls hard enough to crack some ribs, Anakin pushed back, shot out of the seat and punched the hatch release.

He was outside before the other fighter could complete its sharp, banking turn for another sweep at the freighter. Even so, it was soon streaking towards them, firing its lasers and going in for the kill. Their thoughts came at him as clear as words, betraying them. They thought they had him now and if possible, they wanted the ship and its cargo intact. The crew were to be killed, as in Anakin himself and Sal.

He could have told them there was no way he was dying twice within three days.

Obi-Wan's stark warning echoed in his head. …to die again, before you are ready, would mean going straight down with no chance of an up.

Pushing that voice out again, he closed his eyes and focused every atom of his being on the on the screaming outline of the fighter in his mind—supplanting eye-sight with the Force.

The fighter spat red light.

Igniting his lightsaber at the last possible second, Anakin spun and whirled. The long, blue energy beam flashed and hummed, unerringly sending both powerful laserbolts back to their source. It had been a risky move because he hadn't been sure if the lightsaber could handle the sheer destructive energy of the cannon bolts. Other than being numb up both arms though, the risk paid off.

Confident of their superiority and the freighters vulnerability, the fighter pilot had made a tactical error in getting too close. Despite veering off, he was unable to avoid the returning fire. Both hit with barely a micro-second between them. The explosion rocketed the clearing, scattering tail-end of debris rained down on Anakin and the Limidian.

Just as the last of the molten, twisted metal and plasto were settling in the forest, Sal appeared at the hatch, holding a blaster pistol and clutching on to the frame for support. "You Okay? What'd'I miss?"

Those black eyes were sickly rolling even before he'd finished asking the question. Anakin caught the man before he fell on his face.

o~o~o

On the approach to Junga Roth, Anakin had reported ahead so that medics, armed with a hover-stretcher were already waiting back at the city's towering, cylindrical series of landing platforms. The Limidian had literally limped back to Roth and Anakin was relieved to finally land, get off the ship and leave it and the cargo to be someone else's problem. Unfortunately, it wasn't that straight-forward.

Following behind the stretcher, Anakin found his way barred by a trio of uniformed human guards. "Hold it," said one of the guards, raising a hand to halt him. "With Trent unconscious you'll need to make a report to the station chief." He waved up at the control room overseeing all air traffic. "He's already waiting."

Aching and exhausted, Anakin just wanted a shower and maybe the chance to find some bacta to immerse himself in. "He can wait a bit longer. I was just co-pilot."

When he went to brush past, the guard stepped in the way again, saying bullishly, "Maybe you didn't hear me right. I said you have to make a report to the station chief."

Anger boiled past the tiredness. Anakin latched icy eyes on the man's face and received a jolt of recognition. In yet another disorienting flashback, he recalled a dark, wet night on Coruscant.

Vader had called down for his shuttle to be readied and when he'd got down to the landing bay the preparations hadn't been complete. Coldly, deliberately, he'd executed those he held responsible as an example, cutting them down even as they'd begged for mercy. The memory of babbling, terror-filled pleas played back now, freezing him in place.

One of them had been this man.

Punishment without mercy. The memory was nothing out of the ordinary, merely one of a thousand moments of insane, unnecessary cruelty—the way of the Sith.

His way.

Guilt savaged him, writhing in his guts like a host of serpents. Coming face-to-face with one of his victims was so much worse than reliving his past life in dreams and memories.

The guard's brows snapped together, irate at the silent scrutiny and utterly oblivious of its cause. "I asked you if you heard me, pilot?"

Anakin jerked his eyes away and swallowed, holding up his hands in acquiescence. "I heard you. Where do I have to go?"

o~o~o

"He went up against an unknown fighter after escaping an ambush, and beat it?" Lyonides stopped pacing and smiled for the first time since being told of the Geonosian's treachery, and just how close he'd come to losing his newly acquired battle droids. "I think I would like to meet this miraculous pilot. He's a new arrival?"

"Exactly, my lord. Anakin Skywalker registered himself the day before yesterday at the Gate processing centre. When later applying for work at one of the resources' trusts, he put himself down as a pilot and claimed forty-years experience of a great variety of spacecraft. Given such credentials, he was flagged up and assigned as co-pilot for the trading mission. However—" Tall and thin enough to be a Muun, Security Minister Natar bore an unfortunate resemblance to a vulture, not helped by a penchant for wearing a thick black cowl. Still reading from the datapad, he coughed delicately, his usual prelude to spreading poison; as if he had to clear his throat first to make it believable. "—there is a note on his record about his appearance belying his age by some considerable degree."

Unfortunately for Natar, today Lyonides wasn't interested. He waved it off. "I don't care how old he is. Get him here."

"It will mean sending a troop out to the outer rim. He's taken up residence in the Shelter. It's been a trifle volatile there over the last few weeks," Natar warned. "It might incite trouble."

"Get him here."

Natar bowed, "Yes, my lord."

o~o~o

Anakin threaded through the gang of hulking security guards at the door. The club was busy and dominated by a semi-circular stage on which a green-skinned, horned sentient was singing with unabashed fervour. The singer had a deep, resonant tenor and unusual taste in clothing. Dragging his gaze away, Anakin scanned the long black bar. The message he'd received from Trent was that the other pilot would be here. Broad and stout, with thick black hair threaded with silver, he was easy to spot.

Anakin slid onto the empty stool next to him, saying, "I'm surprised the medical centre released you so quickly."

Sal grinned, saluting him with his plasto cup. "I didn't give them a choice. I hate those places. You want one of these?"

Purple, cloudy and lightly smoking, the drink looked lethal. Guilt was still doing a tap-dance in his brain so he made a rash decision. "Why not."

Sal got the attention of the barman and placed the order. Anakin turned his back to the bar and leaned against it to survey the club. It was a nice, clean place. The lightly textured, flexible tile floor had been manufactured to look like wood. He noted that the club's other patrons included a variety of sentients and all were heavily armed. A shapely pair of Twi'lek females dispensed drinks and meal orders from round trays balanced on one hand.

"I haven't seen this many non-humans in the city anywhere else," Anakin remarked, turning his head to look at Sal. "I was beginning to think you didn't have any."

"This is pretty much it. Speciesism is as rife on this side as the other. Lorne over there—the one singing—is our host and, for obvious reasons, he doesn't discriminate."

Anakin's drink arrived, and one sip was all it took to convince him that he was risking his stomach lining if he actually drank it. Grimacing, he put it back down. "I take it most other species have their own settlements, like the Geonosians?"

"Yup. It's a big a world and it just keeps getting bigger as the need arises. Trust me, its hell on estimating journey times." Sal took a swig of his drink that had Anakin's taste-buds wincing in sympathy.

On the stage, their colourful host ended his set to applause and started to talk into the mic. "Oh, yeah. I'm feelin' the love and sendin' it right back. We have ourselves a hot'n'rockin' atmosphere here tonight, all thanks to you folks, and we're only just starting. Right now I'm gonna handover to Jnut, who's feeling a little down, a little maudlin, and needs some jive to feel the vibe, baby. Let's give him a warm welcome…"

Unhooking a pouch off his own utility belt, Sal slid it across the bar. "On the topic of journeys, here's your pay. Sorry it's not much considering you got us out of a major jam, but business is slow."

The musicians picked up again, flooding the club with the discordant sound of Baka Rock. The vocal accompaniment when it started was even worse.

Anakin took the bag of credits, weighing it in his hand. "Thanks—"

"—Sal, you old curmudgeon, who've you dragged into my place this time?"

A green hand whisked between them to snatch up the drink the bartender slid into the waiting palm. It was a practised exchange that suggested frequency. Over the rim of the cup, twinkling red eyes in a green, bi-horned face surveyed Anakin with frank curiosity.

"Well, well. Welcome to Caritas II, and my, aren't you just the wholesome face in this crowd of degenerates." Lorne wagged a finger at him, brow furrowed in thought. "Except…you know, for some reason I'm getting a picture of you in black. Have we met before?"

Thankfully, Anakin didn't have to reply. After a particularly ear-splitting screech from the stage, Lorne winced, looking pained. "Would you listen to that? He's butchering something I thought couldn't actually be butchered. Worse, I don't even have good news to make it worth the pain—his or mine." Draping an electric-blue clad arm over Sal's shoulder, Lorne leaned in, "Do you think he'll take it badly when I tell him his beloved back in the living is doing the mattress-rumba with an insurance salesman?"

"Probably." Sal, lips twitching, cocked his chin in Lorne's direction. "Lorne here is a Pylean," he explained to Anakin. "You sing and he reads your soul—"

"That's aura, honey pie."

"—whatever. Allow me to introduce Anakin Skywalker. He's another pilot and he saved my life today."

"Sounds like my kind of guy." Lorne's smile was open and engaging. "Tell you what. Since I'm one of the few who consider Sal here a friend I'll read you for free. What's your favourite tune, handsome?"

"I don't sing." Deliberately, Anakin's tone left no room for doubt.

The Pylean gusted out a sigh. "Now, where have I heard that before?" He paused, then his expression darkened, "Oh, yeah. I remember now." Draining his drink, Lorne gave a deep all-over-body shudder that had nothing to do with the alcohol. "Forget I asked, cuteness. I have a policy of never doing repeat performances when the opening night flopped, and you've got tall, dark and brooding written all over you. Toodles!"

Not sorry to see him go, Anakin watched the Pylean glide away to mingle, subtly flirting with every species and sex. "That was strange."

Sal shrugged, draining his cup and signalling for a refill. "That's Lorne for you."

Out of nowhere, the long and urgently rising wail of a siren pierced the air, freezing everyone. The lights in the club turned a nightmarish red. Anakin lifted his head as an icy shiver of warning rippled through him, bringing him to full alert. Reaching out with the Force, his mind touched on something utterly repellent and recoiled. He didn't recognise the threat, but he didn't doubt it was bad. Before he could ask what the sirens meant, a man came bursting in through the door, frantically signalling to a worried-looking Lorne.

The music had already died off. Even without the microphone, Lorne's voice carried. "Okay, folks, it looks like we have to cut the fun short. Get yourselves home and lock your doors. Don't stop for nothin'."

Pandemonium was instantaneous. The sharp scrape of chairs punctuated rising voices as panic exploded. Terror mushroomed to lie heavy on the air and there was a stampede for the exit.

Caught in the middle of the melee, Sal heaved himself off his stool and grabbed up the crutch he'd propped against the bar. "Crap! This day just keeps getting better and better."

Following, Anakin took up a position just behind Sal as they let themselves be swept up by the crowd, protecting him from the worst of the pushing and shoving. "Remind me again why rain is such a bad thing."

Sal snorted, "You haven't heard?"

A white-haired Arkanian used the few inches of space between Anakin and Sal to slide through, liberally using his elbows. Sal teetered and Anakin grabbed his left forearm to steady him, saying, "I've heard some garbled nonsense about the Narzgh using rain to bridge this world and theirs, which makes no sense."

They shuffled forward as the different sentient species lunged, clawed and squeezed through the besieged doorway. "It's not the rain itself, but the reflection it causes when it gathers." Sal shouted over the babble. "This isn't the living world—the rules here are different. A reflection is like a window, a weakness the Narzgh have learned to exploit. A word of advice, you don't want to get caught alive. Better to risk going down anyway and kill yourself—it can't be worse than what they'll do to you if they drag you down. Most of us keep a blaster handy just in case."

And risk becoming one of them? Anakin didn't see that as a viable choice. One of the Twi'lek waitresses was being crushed between an enormous, armoured Gen'Dai and a scaled Marachaun. Reaching out a hand, he grabbed her arm and yanked her out of the press, at the same saying to Sal, "Why not blast them instead and live? That would be my first choice."

The crush of bodies on the stairs carried them upwards by its own momentum. The street was visible at the top of the stairs and the remaining crowd strained towards it.

"Mine too," Sal replied, "but blasters don't have that much effect, except maybe to slow them down a little, if you're lucky. Knives and machetes are better. You have to chop them to pieces to cause any serious damage."

That explained the high numbers of vibro-bladed weaponry Anakin had been seeing around Junga Roth. The lightsaber hidden underneath his clothing was warm and reassuring against his abdomen. "I'll keep that in mind."

The siren was still wailing when they reached the street. The moment they cleared the doorway, figures scurried away, slinking shadows escaping the pounding deluge. The rain was so heavy that visibility was poor past half a standard metre. They were some of the last out. Lorne was hurriedly locking up behind them and muttering under his breath.

Weaving a little unsteadily, Sal slapped a hand on Anakin's shoulder, jerking his other thumb towards another door set immediately on the left of the club entrance. "My place is up there. I rent a room off Lorne. If I were you I wouldn't even try and make it to the shelter. I've got a bad feeling…"

Sal didn't get to finish. Lorne gave a strangled, warning shout and pointed a shaking finger behind Anakin. He hadn't needed the warning. Already spinning on his heel, Anakin saw that a trench of water had already formed in the middle of the saturated street. Skeletally long fingers stabbed up out of the accumulated water, swiftly followed by grime-covered arms and warped, malformed bodies that crawled, scrabbled and lunged onto the harder ground. They were tall, elongated and hideous. In a single heartbeat there were dozens of them and many more were forming, agitating the water to boiling froth.

In the time it had taken him to turn, the air was already filling with inhuman howls and snarls, a truly horrific noise that rose to painful levels. Instead of mouths, they had bloody, gaping maws and lifted fleshless noses to the air, scenting for prey. The hideously tortured craving to torture others in turn.

"There's no way in hell I can outrun them and they'll just bust in any door. There'll be hundreds in a moment." Sal's heavy hand fell on Anakin's shoulder. "Get the hell out of here, kid. Run, I'll—"

"No," Anakin shook the hand off, his face set and grim. "I'll deal with this. Both of you get inside and bar the door."

"Are you crazy—?"

Sensing them, the Narzgh raiders swung jerkily towards Anakin. Many held vicious-looking grappling hooks, long enough to drag on the ground. They had no eyes in their dark, pitiless sockets, and yet they seemed to lock onto him without any trouble. Red plasma bolts coming from behind him—likely Sal's sidearm—flurried into the raiders. Many were hit, but it didn't even slow them down. They came right for him.

This time, he didn't hesitate. Anakin had the lightsaber in his hand and ignited before they'd completed their first, loping step. Leading with a swinging, powerful arc of deadly blue, he met their charge and sliced right into the middle of them. In moments, the lightsaber was akin to a living, compelling entity in his hands. Force-fuelled strength roared through him, humming through muscle and sinew, and making his breath come faster. He slashed effortlessly through the Narzgh; rivening flesh, wood and metal. Some had blasters, and he deflected the bolts back at them before slicing off the claws that held the weapons. Spinning with the lightsaber held high in a two-handed grip, he took out another four who tried to rush him. Slashing on the downward arc, he took off an arm. Around and up, he took off a screeching head.

Infuriated, they swarmed thicker, blood-thirsty and raging.

Battle had commenced.

Anakin had to keep constantly moving, utilising Ataru acrobatics to keep from being overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Ataru had never been his favoured form, but it was necessary to use some elements as the Narzgh were also inhumanely fast. It was a deadly and draining tactic, but at least he achieved his objective of driving the raiders away from Sal and Lorne, and any others who hadn't yet had time to escape.

He fought dirty. Anything he could pry loose—aircon units, recyclers, or even small lone speeder bike, he threw at them. All the while the blade of the saber was little more than a blur of blue light. If he was about to be cornered, he would vault over their heads and attack from a clearer position. Despite the desperation of the circumstances, he was exhilarated; he hadn't been so agile for what felt like a millennia.

The battle had taken him two blocks down from Caritas. Narzgh who hadn't engaged him had instead chosen to scale a wall and were using an overhead grated alloy bridge that spanned two buildings to attack other dwellings. Unfortunately, there wasn't anything he could do about it yet as he already had his hands full. A long, clawed grapple whistled towards him and he cleaved it in two, doing the same to the owner a moment later. Then, bending back almost in half and holding his lightsaber in a two handed grip, Anakin decapitated five heads encircling him with one sweep. At the same time, the snarling beasts slathering behind them were driven back. Using the reprieve, he straightened, dropped to a low squat and used the Force to fuel a jump that landed him on the bridge three metres up.

There were two Narzgh battering at a door on the right. They were literally peeling the protective alloy off with their bare hands to gain entry. Before they could sense his presence, Anakin impaled one and thrust harder to do the same to the other standing directly in front. The rank stench of sizzling flesh engulfed him. Ruthlessly twisting the hilt, he yanked it back out through their sides. A scream behind Anakin had him whirling around to see that another two had gained entrance to the building opposite. Through the shattered door frame, he saw a human man—white faced with terror—trying to beat off the claws that reached for him. Sprinting the distance, Anakin leaped through the doorway, already bringing the lightsaber down. Three times the blinding blue light slashed down, cutting off the arms before he finished the raisers off with a diagonal slash across the shoulders. He left the man sobbing, but safe.

By the time he reached the street again, Anakin was fully in the zone. He felt oiled, smooth and completely emotionless. Every breath was a beat that followed the rhythm of the Force flowing through him. He didn't fight it, or repress it or try and control it—he simply was.

They came in waves and he left a trail of bodies. Even so more kept coming. He was surrounded by a darkness blacker than even he had ever known. All he could do was keep fighting harder and faster. His own sweat stung his eyes and he ignored it just as he did the relentless rain. From all around him their mindless, murderous savagery howled and hammered at his mind. It was slaughter but he didn't care. From somewhere further up the street, Anakin could hear more screaming. The sound was chilling with every rising note redolent with horror.

Fast still wasn't fast enough.

He couldn't save them all.

But he wanted to.

That desire alone was a revelation—an epiphany.

Most of these people didn't have the means to fight back and would be doomed to a fate that was literally worse than death. _He was supposed to help_. That was what Obi-wan wanted, he knew it now. The furious combat had cleared his mind of fear and uncertainty, and the sense of purpose gave him additional strength. Finally the battering flow began to slow to a trickle. Slicing the last raider in two at the waist, Anakin pounded down the dark, wet street towards the screaming.

He was going to find the protector in himself again or die trying. Sheer necessity would mean it had to be the former.

o~o~o

Ignoring the hairy beast lurking in the ante-chamber, Security Minister Natar's brow furrowed with anxiety as he activated the security panel next to a heavily armoured door. The enforced protection was due to the fact that this door led to the Premier's spacious and well-appointed apartments. Approved to enter, the doors slid silently apart for him and he rushed inside, spluttering, "My lord, there is an attack on the outer rim."

Lyonides didn't turn from the security holo he was watching intently. "Yes, I'm aware of that."

Natar decided to give all the bad news at once, blurting out, "I'm afraid we couldn't locate the pilot before we were forced to retreat."

"Possibly, I've found him for you." Lyonides turned to the only other person in the room besides Natar. "What do you think, Councillor? Rather a magnificent display, wouldn't you say?"

Dumb with shock, Padmé could only stare, mesmerised, appalled and breathless. She'd come here to argue with the Premier. When the alert had come, she'd been darkly satisfied when he activated the holo, thinking it would show him the results of his negligence. Oh, how she wished he hadn't. Every thought felt sluggish. Her heart was thudding sickly over a hollow stomach.

The images were crystal clear and there was no mistaking the man battling tens of dozens of Narzgh and showing unparalleled and deadly skill with a lightsaber—the weapon of a Jedi. Anakin.

He was here. The mental walls she'd built so painstakingly over decades came tumbling down. Pain boiled out, coiling through her mind, raking her heart, paralysing her muscles. Her husband, the father of her children, and the man who'd broken her heart so thoroughly she'd slipped from life rather than face it, was here.

"Councillor, you are as white as bleached bone. Are you ill?" From the other side of the holo, Lyonides cocked his head, coolly assessing her. "Or, perhaps you know this individual?"

"No." The word had come out more like a pained whisper than a firm denial. She reached for control and found it slipped right through her fingers. As self-control was impossible, escape was the only solution. Self-preservation made her turn away, breaking her frozen posture. Swallowing to moisten her mouth, she said over her shoulder, "I'm sorry, Premier, but I must leave you. I have pressing business elsewhere."

Walking out without a backward glance, she missed the calculating look that entered Lyonides' cold eyes.

Outside in the antechamber, she waved a concerned Freyrr to keep silent and kept going, oblivious to where she was headed or the streaks of tears now coursing down her face. With one shaking hand pressed to her stomach and the other her trembling mouth, she fought for control. It was a hard won battle, but finally she was able to slow her mad dash.

Her mind was still in turmoil, but her wits were returning—too late. She'd betrayed her agitation to Lyonides and that couldn't be helped, but now she had to pull it together and think!

She still had people to worry about. She had to brush personal feelings aside. But it was so hard. She'd never thought—never believed that she would ever see him again, and that knowledge alone had crushed her. For years she'd woken up sobbing, broken-hearted all over again at the sound of her babies voicing their first cries. It had been her own despair that dragged her down her down and away from them. She'd never got to hold them, or stay with them. Her final silent plea, desperately calling for his strength played in her head and ripped through her heart. "Anakin, help me! PLEASE!"

Darth Vader had cost her husband, her children and her life. Now he was here.

Freyrr gave a low rumbling roar that held unmistakable concern. Padmé wiped the wetness off her cheeks and turned to her friend. "Find us a shuttle and pick me up at the south-east Central landing bay. Do it quickly."

Freyrr cocked her head, her low rumble distinctly curious and still concerned.

Padmé shook her head. "I've just given Lyonides every reason to watch my comings and goings. I can't afford to use my own transport. I don't want to be followed or surveilled. Freyrr, I need your help, not your questions. Please!"

o~o~o

There were more of them. Anakin continued up the alley that split off from the main thoroughfare, keeping his momentum going and the lightsaber deadly efficient. Ahead of him the same Twi'lek female he'd helped before was being dragged by her hair. The terror in her screams raised the fine hairs on his arms. Lashing out with a high-kick to the face of a raider closing in, he slashed at the support struts of a canopy overhead, leaping aside just in time as it crashed down on top of three more Narzgh. Six metres away, another raider dragged its victim to the edge of a deep puddle of water, where Anakin had already seen other victims disappear while he'd been too distant to do anything. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't get to her in time either, he realised.

Frustration flared and he snuffed it out.

Whirling, he used the Force to throw his lightsaber. It hummed through the air in deceptively lazy circles and slashed through the creatures neck, nearly severing the head. Back-flipping away from another Narzgh hoping to take advantage of his lack of weapon, Anakin landed lightly a few feet away and raised his hand to call the lightsaber back. Swiftly dispatching the last Narzgh, he used his other hand to force-push the Twi'lek away from the water. He didn't want to lose her to another raider if more arrived and he was busy elsewhere.

They didn't.

After an hour of frenetic fighting, the Narzgh numbers were finally dwindling. Snarling and spitting their fury, the remaining raiders backed away and retreated out of the alley, heading for the nearest accumulation of water. Soon the dark, dank alley was empty except for the carnage of strewn bodies. With apparently no-one left to fight, exhaustion rose up to claim Anakin. Now he no longer needed the Force to sustain his fighting ability, it drained back to a simmer. He was shaking, filthy, bloody and aching all over.

Then another scream rent the air.

Adrenaline crashed back into his system and he raced towards the dying sound, trying to trace the source. The rain was still pounding, drumming on the tops and sides of buildings, dripping into his eyes. He hadn't gone far when he had to slow down to duck under and around the struts of a decaying mobile manufacturing tower. The going got even tougher as a complicated network of pipes blocked his way. Worst of all, he was no longer sure if he was even going in the right direction. Steam from poorly sealed pipes hissed and sputtered, adding to the confusion. Amongst the muck and debris, Anakin came across a pile of foraged clothing, food and meagre bedding. There was a prayer book tucked lovingly under the ratty blanket. Finally another piercing scream—followed, by jabbering, moaning and pleas for mercy—put him back on the scent.

Thankfully, his path cleared enough for him to put on a burst of speed, avoiding the stinking piles of accumulated garbage. He was inside a badly organised recycling centre. Reaching a peak, he stared down into a gulley and saw a frail, raggedly clothed elderly man who was scrabbling and yelling, desperately trying to avoid being dragged into a wide, deep puddle the size of a miniature lake. The Narzgh holding the chain of the grappling hook sunk into the old man's ankle was already sinking below the surface of the water.

Pumping his arms and using ground-eating strides, Anakin got as close as he could and then made a tremendous leap, skidding to the edge of the water on his belly. Just in time, he caught the man's right hand in his own.

"Hold on," he commanded.

Wide, terrified brown eyes in a dirty, wrinkled face locked onto his. "Please, help me…please!"

Gritting his teeth, Anakin pulled, heaving back as hard as he could and managed to drag the old man back an inch. "Hold onto me. I'll get you out."

Squirming forward, he wrapped his arms around the man's torso to get a better hold. As he did, they were both dragged deeper into the water. Before they'd adjusted to the change, the old man slipped to the waist as if yanked by something enormously strong. The sheer power of the force pulling them down into the watery pit was incredible—and Anakin admitted, terrifying.

The old man started to gibber, "Don't let it get me…don't let it get me. Don't…don't…"

"I won't let go. I won't let it happen," Anakin promised.

Despite every drop of strength and monumental use of the Force though, they both felt the old man slip further to the point that Anakin's forearms were under water too. He felt the thin arms wrap tighter around his shoulders. The man's shrieks were deafening. "Don't let it get me, please! Don't let it get me. Kill me. Kill me!"

"I can't," Anakin panted, straining to pull him out—them both out. "Fight back, kick out. Help me."

Muscles popping under the strain, he dug in his knees still on the mud outside the water, trying to counteract the monstrous thing dragging the man down. The old man's screams got higher-pitched. Anakin could only imagine the strain on his body as two opposing forces fought over it.

If he wasn't careful, Anakin realised, he could kill the man just by trying to save him.

The water was up to the old man's shoulders now and the brown eyes were glazed orbs of pain staring out of in a sheet-white face. The man started to choke, his throat working spasmodically, gargling, "Kill me. Kill me. Kill me."

"I can't. I can't kill you." _That's not who I am anymore, or can't be ever again_. Anakin was pleading now while white-hot agony ripped through his shoulders and upper arms. He used all of his will, all of his power. The strain was threatening to rip him apart too, but he didn't release his grip.

"Please!" the man whispered as the water lapped up to his chin despite everything.

His deactivated lightsaber lay on the mud by his thigh. When Anakin thought about it, it vibrated, but he didn't call it to hand. He didn't need to because suddenly it was over. A series of ripples threaded over the surface of the water and without warning the old man went rigid and then, abruptly, all tension was gone.

At first Anakin couldn't take it in, then brown eyes locked onto his for the last time and with his final breath, the man, said, "Thank you." Numb, Anakin watched the light of life wink out in the slack, elderly face.

"NO!" The bellow echoed around the filthy gulley, ripe with anger and defeat. It did nothing. The old man was still dead.

Ignoring the protests of his own battered body, Anakin dragged the remains back to the side, gently closed the dead eyes and then slumped, rolling over onto his back on the saturated mud. Laying his right arm over his eyes, he let the horror wash over him while his breath shuddered in his chest and the rain continued to pelt him.

Minutes or possibly hours later, he heard unmistakeable thrumming throb of a speeder or small shuttle. Someone was approaching. He didn't bother moving. He was too exhausted and too numb to even lift his head and see who it was. There was a waft of displaced air and, in his mind's eye, he saw a brown cloak being draped over the old man's body—what was left of it anyway—just before the sad bundle was lifted and borne away.

Anakin was grateful, because it meant he wouldn't have to see how badly he'd failed when he did finally open his eyes. He didn't want to feel anything, so he didn't let himself feel anything. Someone squatted nearby and he got the impression of towering strength and a rangy body covered in fur: a Wookiee. That finally prompted him to jerk open his eyes and check for himself that he wasn't imagining things.

He wasn't. Neither was he imagining the cloaked woman standing two metres away and staring at him through the rain.

Her name was a ghost of a whisper passing his lips, "Padmé."


	4. Chapter 4

**AUTHOR RESPONSES:**

I have (hopefully) replied by pm to each of the signed reviews. This is for the unsigned reviews:

_Caryn - Lorne? Angel fan are we? Nice story, hope to see an update soon._

Hi Caryn, I am a Lorne fan, yes. He is what drew me to Angel the series years ago, and I couldn't resist bringing him over to add some humour and snark! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story.

_mlhkvh5 - These last 2 chapters are wonderful! This is such a great story of what Anakin and Padme would be like meeting in the after life. You write so well Anakin's emotions, and how the characters interact with one another. Lorne is great, and the feeling of despair when Anakin wanted to save the old man, but could not, was so real. This is like watching a movie, the action is so well done, it is like being there. You are very talented. I am looking forward to how Padme and Anakin get along. I hope she remembers the last thing she said to Obi Wan about him at some point-"I know there is still good in him". Looking forward to your next update!_

Hi mlhkvh5! Thank you for your lovely comments. You made my day and then some! I'm so delighted that the story is hooking you this way, and I hope it continues. As for Anakin and Padmé, they have a way to go yet before things start to smooth out between them. I hope that doesn't turn you off the story.

**NOTES:**

(1)HUGE thank you to everyone who posted a comment!

(2)Thank you to NikeJ and YellowDart for the beta of this chapter.

**Chapter Four**

The silence dragged. The rain drenched. Movement at the top of the gulley behind them signalled the arrival of more people. A crowd was gathering; darker silhouettes against the inky night sky, watching, perched on mountains of discarded droid and speeder parts.

Hearing Anakin murmuring Padmé's name, the Wookiee gave a rumbling growl that sounded half wondering and half concerned.

"It's alright, Freyrr," she reassured the Wookiee. The sound of her voice sent a shiver through Anakin.

The shuttle's lights wove a halo around Padmé. She looked the same, he thought, wonderingly. He felt dizzy. It was stunning to realise he'd been waiting for this—almost as if a part of him had been holding his breath until he saw her. His wife. His beautiful Padmé. The long, hooded cloak hid her body, but not her face. It might have been only yesterday that she ran into his arms on Mustafar. Staring, mesmerised, he didn't know how he managed to rise to his feet with every muscle locked tight. His heart was racing. He wanted to go to her and touch—just touch—cup her face in his hands and feel again the warmth of her skin under his fingers.

He let out a shuddering breath as memory intruded. _Let her go_, Anakin Obi-Wan's demand echoed in his ear, bringing with it the images from that same fateful day. Against his will, the scene rushed forward a few moments to Padmé lying crumpled on the floor of the lava moon's landing bay.

His last sight of her…until now. The thought brought with it a savage spasm of pain and crushing regret. He'd used the Force against her, hurting her. Shame writhed in his chest. With a sinking feeling, he wondered if she was remembering their last meeting too.

"Anakin," she greeted him in turn, composedly, "or, should I say, Lord Vader?"

Hearing her use that name was a slap to the face. He felt the blow right to his core.

"I'm not Vader." It came out harsher than he'd intended. He had to swallow before he could continue, more calmly. "Not anymore. I'm Anakin again."

"Very wise," she said stiffly. "I doubt that using the name Vader would gain you any friends here."

She wasn't really looking at him—not at him—but at a spot over his left shoulder. He couldn't look away from her face. If it wasn't for the fact that Anakin could feel her agitation through the Force, he might believe she felt nothing. Pain clawed deeper.

The insinuation that he was merely protecting himself was another nerve-strike. "I'm aware of that, but that's not why—."

She cut him off. "I'm sure you have your reasons, but that's not why I'm here."

He wasn't sure he wanted to know why she was there, just that she was there.

"It's good to see you," he said softly, thinking of how often over the last few days he'd tormented himself with dreams of somehow going back in time and changing everything. He hadn't dared imagine this meeting, though, fearing it.

Were there any words, in any of the millions of languages of the galaxy, that would serve as an apology for what he'd done?

"Padmé…" he took a thoughtless step towards her, pleading.

As easily as that her composure cracked. She took a jerky, instinctive step back, snapping, "Don't say my name like that."

Anakin froze. It was as if a lever had pulled and the floodgate was lifted. Through the flow of the Force the maelstrom of her emotions battered at him. There were so many of them he could barely tell them apart, except for one—fear.

Between them, and rising off her haunches, the Wookiee growled, warningly. Ranged meters behind him, the crowd swelled further, silent, watchful, curious. He was oblivious to anyone but her.

"Padmé," he said again, ignoring the two-and-a-half-meter-tall wall of walking, furry female. He needed Padmé to understand. "I'm not here to frighten you—"

"Don't. Just don't."

Warding him off with an upheld hand, her chest gave one guttering jerk as she too sucked in a breath, struggling to stay in control. Now that she was finally looking at him properly, he saw what he'd just sensed. The icy composure had been a mere façade. There was a storm of emotion swirling in her eyes with bright fear shining the strongest—the same liquid brown eyes that had once looked at him with a devotion to match his own.

She truly feared him! That knowledge silenced him utterly. The pain tripled, turning into a devastating avalanche. He couldn't move, locked in place while his emotions got the better of his control. Neither noticed the quake-like disturbance affecting a nearby mound of broken mechno-gear parts, sending components slipping and sliding.

The Wookiee, obviously uneasy, took up a position much closer to Padmé, laying a thickly furred hand on one cloaked shoulder.

The offer of support and strength worked. Anakin saw Padmé's spine stiffen. "I only came to find out why you're here. Nothing else." she told him, bluntly, lifting her chin, defying her own fear.

They both knew she was asking why he hadn't gone straight down to the third world.

Did she wish he had?

Anakin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The images of his last few moments played clearly in his mind. He tried to hold back any emotion, but he knew he wasn't succeeding. "Luke," he told her. "He . . . he saved me."

Her eyes grew wide with horror. "Luke?" she breathed. "You found Luke?" Even in the darkness, he could see that she'd paled to stark white.

How he longed to comfort her, but she couldn't have made it clearer that he no longer had that right. "He found me – he knew that there was still good in me." Pausing for a moment, he tried to collect his thoughts. "And when Palpatine tried to kill Luke, I couldn't let him do it." His voice was stilted, shattered, "I killed Palpatine . . . and myself in the process. Obi-Wan was waiting for me on the other side. He sent me here."

It seemed like she didn't hear a word he said. "Luke," she whispered, "oh, Luke, I tried to protect you from your father."

"He knows," Anakin whispered, agonised. "They both know. Obi-Wan hid them well. For years I believed they'd died with you."

"The deception was necessary to keep them safe from you!" she reminded him bitterly.

Anakin found it was getting harder to breathe. He wanted to turn away, pace and protect himself, but he made himself look into her face. He understood her fear and loathed himself more than ever before. "Luke found _me_, Padmé. They both did. They grew up to be wonderful people—"

"—You got to see them," she said in a shattered voice. She whirled away and paced, in pain. "I didn't. I didn't even get to hold them, or watch my children grow up." When she turned back, he saw that her face had lost all semblance of calm. She was hugging herself, holding herself in.

"Padmé . . . I'm so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am." He didn't have words to express his torrent of regret. He settled for the only comfort he could offer. "They're fine. They're both fine. I wouldn't lie to you about that."

After a moment, Padmé nodded again. He watched her pull herself together and clenched his fists to still yet another impulse to go to her. She was strong. She'd always been strong. It'd been one of the things he'd loved about her.

As if to prove it, she pinned him with a hard, glittering gaze. "Fine. You've told me how you came to be here, but you still haven't explained your intentions now that you are here."

"You still consider me such a monster?" Anakin asked softly.

There was no softening. "Just answer the question."

"Obi-Wan believes that I can redeem myself. I want to try." To hide his own wet eyes, he turned away, looking at the growing gaggle of ragtag humans and non-human sentients rather than Padmé. Despite the distance, he could sense the acrid fear still coming off them in suffocating waves. "I want to help," he finished.

Behind him, her eyes flashed hot. "Like you wanted to help at the peak of the Clone Wars?" she hissed. "Like you want to take over, wrest control, bringing supposed peace by meting out punishment and withdrawing freedom? Tell me," she asked, her voice hard, "is killing at will still your idea of _helping_?"

Distressed that she'd think that—know enough about him to say such things—Anakin bowed his head, closing his burning eyes and keeping his face averted so she wouldn't see his suffering. "No." He didn't know what else to say. "No—nothing like that."

"Good, because we already have someone like that, and one is more than enough." Exhaustion suddenly seemed to drag at her, turning her even paler. "I don't know why I bothered to come here." She gave a helpless gesture. "I can only hope that you mean what you say. Words from you are just that, they're no guarantee."

He heard the crunch of her steps on the gravel. She was just going to walk away, he realised dully. Unable to stop himself, Anakin swung back to face her and the words were torn from him, "I still love you, Padmé. That will never change."

She froze with her back to him. When she did turn to face him again her expression was so stark that Anakin braced himself for a body-blow. "And, I did and still do love the man you once were before Palpatine twisted you." she said softly, meaning no comfort and he took none. She wasn't finished. "As a child, I was taught that absolute power corrupts absolutely." She gave a jerky wave of her hand. "Stupidly, I dismissed it as a platitude. I wouldn't have done if I'd realised in time just how much that saying applied to you—" her voice thickened, "—to the young padawan who'd been sent to protect me on my home world."

Thunder rolled overhead. The rain got heavier, running in rivulets down his face. "I didn't have absolute power."

Padmé shook her head impatiently. "It was within your grasp and we all knew it. You would have been a brave, heroic man without being Force-sensitive, but with it you went on to become a murdering tyrant." Her face turned granite hard. "I've had plenty of time to think about that, what it did to you, to us—and learn to hate it."

The water to his right rippled under an unseen force as Anakin fought himself and won, reigning in his despair enough to speak. Still, his voice was raw. "And do you hate me, Padmé? Do you wish that love for our son hadn't saved me?"

From back near the crowd, Anakin heard his name being called and ignored it. Here in the wet, the dark and the mud, he was waiting, poised on a chasm of agony.

For the first time Padmé's face softened under the hood of her cloak. "No. I'm glad that you and Luke saved each other. I'm proud of him, and I wish you well." Their gazes locked and he felt a frisson pass down his spine. A sad smile trembled on her lips. "Good luck with your redemption, Anakin." The brief, barely-there smile vanished and then she was abruptly solemn again. "For all of our sakes."

With that Anakin had to be content, because this time she didn't hesitate to walk away. The doors of the shuttle swallowed her along with Freyrr the Wookiee. Moments later, he watched through a blur of intermingled tears and rain as the pristine white shuttle rose up with a whine of repulsorlift engines. It occurred to him that he was seeing the best part of his existence drift inexorably away from him, not wanting to be near him.

The howl inside his mind worked up to fever-pitch, blanking out every other thought and letting blessed numbness lead from the top of his head down.

o~o~o

Padmé deliberately hadn't brought a pilot. She'd wanted no witnesses to hear what might be said, except for Freyrr. Meaning, no matter what, she had to hold it together enough to fly them back. She did it by sheer dint of will. South East Central wasn't the closest transport hub to where she lived, but it was only a sky-track distant. When she got home, then she could fall apart.

He looked the same! How could he look the same?

No! She mustn't think about him, she told herself, fiercely, blinking back the blur of tears. Not yet.

Thankfully the landing bay and terminal were deserted except for essential staff; most of whom were droids undertaking cleaning or maintenance tasks. The transparisteel-encased sky-track was similarly quiet. The efficiently humming, effortless glide of the floor bearing her along was soothing. Outside the clear bubble, the night-time cityscape unfolded above and below. Using the track was like riding along a silvery ribbon between huge spires and towers winking with star-bright lights. The contrast between the core and the outer rim of the city had never been greater—tranquillity in one and suffering in the other.

There would have been more suffering if Anakin hadn't intervened.

The shimmer of tears in his eyes had arrowed straight to her heart. Gods! She couldn't go through this again. How could one man cause such a conflict between good and evil? He'd been one and then turned to the other. What was he now?

She'd loved him so much. Just the memory of how much hurt.

Her hand shook on the cool hand-rail. The sky-lock ahead slid apart. A pair of palace guards appeared on the opposite track, laughing and joking with a female med-tech. The trio looked pleased to have finished their duty shift. Recognising her, the guards inclined their heads respectfully and eyed Freyrr apprehensively as they passed. It was all she could do to return the gesture.

She did, however, manage to get a grip on her emotions by pushing Anakin out again.

Nearly there.

Getting off the sky-track at Temple Arbor, they found the pedestrian walkways busier. The core never really slept. In certain sections, the bars and restaurants didn't close until dawn. That wasn't the case here though. The nearby Temple of Atonement occupied a whole city block, dominating the neighbourhood. The smell of incense coupled with low chanting heralded the arrival of a group of temple devotees. As usual they were holding placards and swinging their hand-held burners. Their white cowls were pristine, and the eight humans walked in a tight, exclusive circle to avoid contamination.

Padmé and Freyrr let them pass before proceeding to their own destination; the Transvision Tower. City administrators and elected officials, such as Padmé, were quartered in spacious units at the top of the one-hundred and forty level building. The sky-track took them directly to level ninety nine. A short turbolift ride later they were home.

The reception room was alive with plants and shrubs in deep pots as a concession to Freyrr's preferred habitat. Padmé was trembling before the turbolift finished opening its doors. Excusing herself from a vocally concerned Freyrr, she by-passed the courteous enquiries of her in-service droid and all but ran for her bedroom. The doors opened and then shut behind her automatically. She didn't make it to the bed, but sank to her knees on the lush rug before the bed. Her head bowed under the weight of her anguish.

He looked the same.

He sounded the same.

He'd called her name in that husky voice with his heart in his eyes.

She'd hurt him. She'd seen his tears. She'd left him there, alone.

_"I still love you, Padmé. That will never change."_

Oh, how she'd loved him. Despite knowing they mustn't, couldn't, shouldn't. In the end, she just couldn't live without him—literally.

She'd dedicated her mind and ambition to serving other people, but after a brief fight alive with denial, her heart and soul had belonged to him. He'd been her fearless, fierce warrior. The touch of his skin on hers had brought a song to her heart, his strength, his love, a balm against the night. She'd lived only a half-life when he was away, as he often was during the endless battles of the Clone Wars, the Senator coming to the fore and the woman retreating until his return.

She'd thought their love made them stronger. How wrong she'd been. Anakin's love for her had destroyed him. His fear for her had cost millions their lives.

Hugging herself, Padmé rocked back and forth on her knees, keening her sobs to muffle them.

She couldn't muffle her thoughts, though.

Today had proven something to her. It was both unnatural and dreadful to fear someone you love. She thought she'd been prepared by seeing him on the security holo, but she'd been shockingly wrong. A projected image was nothing to seeing Anakin, alive and in the flesh. The shock of it had stolen her breath. He'd been trying to save an old man, she remembered now. That fact in itself had momentarily blanked her mind.

Witnessing that last, furious struggle had wiped her prepared speech right out of her head. They'd landed in time to hear his bellow of fury at failing. Dumbstruck, she'd sat frozen in the pilot seat watching him drag the rest of the body out of the water. Tears had burned her eyes when he'd flopped to the side, exhausted, defeated, and so very much the man she'd loved that it had hurt to look. She couldn't remember getting out of the seat, or walking to the hatch. All she could recall was standing at the top of the shuttle's ramp, staring at his limp, sodden figure through the dark, driving rain. It had been like standing in a wind tunnel of memories—they'd hurtled through her as clear as if they'd happened only days ago—all the more painful because of that.

Their first meeting after ten years, obliterating her image of him as a sweet little boy and replacing it with the powerful man he'd become. The thrilling power of a head-strong padawan with love in his blue eyes. A nineteen-year-old's gentle wooing of her on Naboo. Almost losing him, marrying him, loving him—then loss, then fear, then death.

All the things she'd fought so hard to forget after he'd let himself become a monster. Yet, despite the terrible things he'd done, in that moment all she'd wanted to do was run to him.

But she hadn't. Her legs had been shaking so hard she hadn't been able to move so much as a step once he'd seen her. She'd been completely frozen—until he'd reached for her, calling her name with a pained crack in his voice.

It had been a lance to the heart. One single thought only had crystallised; she couldn't go through what she'd gone through before ever again. She had to keep her distance. Anger had come to her rescue too.

Until now.

Tomorrow she would be strong again. Tonight, she had to let it out. Just tonight.

o~o~o

Out of nowhere a cloak had been thrown over him as Anakin walked through the staring crowd. Whispers hissed all around, only to sputter and die as humans and non-humans alike parted for him to pass through.

Curiosity and wariness pressed in on Anakin from all sides. There was fear here too. More fear of him. He was glad of the concealing cloak and the continuing numbness. He was just clearing the edge of the crowd when Sal limped up to him, grinning. "Well! If it isn't the one-man army himself. I've been looking for you. Hey, I saw you down there with the pretty councillor—"

Stopping dead, Anakin shook his head. "I need to be alone now," he said bluntly, not caring if he caused offense.

Peering closely at his face, Sal must have seen something raw, because he winced. "Sure. You've got a look on your face I've seen a time or two before in the mirror."

Anakin went to walk past him. Sal grabbed his arm. "Listen, I'll be going back to Caritas. If you decide you want drown your sorrows instead of brood, come find me there."

Anakin pulled free. "I'll bear that in mind."

By the time he'd worked his way out from underneath the maze of pipes dropping down from the overhead recycling plant, his strides were getting longer.

At the same junction where Anakin had saved the Twi'lek, he took a right. He didn't care where he ended up. He was walking with no destination in mind.

At first he simply kept his mind blank, retreating. Eventually though, thought trickled back. Anger came to his rescue. Even self-directed fury was better than despair. His time as Vader had taught him that.

Under the cloak's hood, his face became hard and set, in tandem with his thoughts. What had he expected, he asked himself viciously. Sweet smiles and a loving reunion with the wife he'd all but killed while their children still slept in her womb? He should have been better prepared, he berated himself. Where was the vaunted strategist he'd once been? He'd run campaigns in every inch of space, across thousands of worlds, but come apart when faced with Padmé. Anakin had always been better with actions than words, but still he'd done a pathetic job of convincing her that he meant to honour this offer of redemption—that he would do everything in his power to make up for the past.

The lightsaber clipped to his belt seemed to burn his thigh, a reminder of what he had been, and still was, capable of.

She might not know in detail all that Darth Vader had done since her death, but she knew enough to know that he'd been a being consumed by the need to crush all opposition, subdue and control—killing at will. Just as she'd accused him.

If he still needed some convincing that part of his life was over, why was it so surprising that Padmé was doubtful?

He hadn't been prepared for the meeting. On the positive side, at least it was over, Anakin thought, and let go of the anger, feeling it drain. In the void, pain welled up again, but it was softer and more manageable. He would always love her, he hadn't lied about that. Even becoming Vader hadn't changed that simple fact—but if he had to accept that she could no longer love him, then he'd somehow, someway find a way to live with it. She'd suffered enough at his hands. He refused to inflict more.

No-one knew better than he that he didn't deserve love.

It was time to stop dreaming and start doing.

It was all he'd ever been consistently good at; as a Jedi or a Sith.

As if to reinforce this simple truth, Anakin became aware of his surroundings now that his emotions were banked.

Up and down the street the carnage, a good deal of which he'd wrought, was being dragged onto grisly piles and set on fire. Smoke plumed and billowed. The stench was atrocious. Here and there, lost looking figures were wandering around aimlessly, calling plaintively for loved ones. Over it all, the sounds of weeping soared over the crackle of the flames.

He didn't need to be told that more of the same was spread all over the hundred of kilometres of outer rim city. He could feel it. Anger, despair, grief and misery were all funnelled through the Force for him to receive as he stood in the midst of the aftermath. His battle had covered only a fraction of it. Distance meant nothing, Anakin could hear the wails of the bereaved and feel the quaking of the hopelessly terrorised.

On Coruscant, the areas of the city affected would be crawling with disaster containment agents, counsellors and security droids. Here there were just survivors.

Seeing it, feeling it, the compassion he'd looked for on the first day in the processing centre rose up inside him. That emotion, one which he'd believed dead in him, added to his new resolve. If redemption was possible for him, he knew he wasn't going to find it on his knees in some temple. Obi-Wan had been right, he had to earn it. And, perhaps in doing so, he'd earn Padmé's forgiveness too. He couldn't hope for more.

It was the only bolster he had.

Anakin stopped a beefy male with clumps of matted black hair trailing down to his waist. "How many did the Narzgh get?" he asked.

The man looked him up and down, squinting suspiciously. "You new?"

"Yes. Why?"

"It's a dumb question."

Anakin kept his patience. "Answer it anyway."

The man shrugged. "We don't know—a couple'a thousand maybe. It's a big place full of a labyrinth of streets and alleys, with more of them underground. They never count us out here on the rim. It's not good politics to let the number-crunchers spill the beans on just how bad it is here."

Anakin digested that, and realised that he needed to know a lot more about the set up in Junga Roth. Making an off-the-cuff decision, he thanked the man and turned his steps back the way he'd come. Unerringly, he found his way back to the dingy back street housing the club. A neon, blinking green sign advertising Caritas II was hung over the closed door. It looked closed, but Anakin could sense the activity hidden within.

Lifting his hand, he rapped his knuckles on the door, hard.

He had to knock twice more before he caught the approach of someone coming up the interior stairs. Clamping locks disengaged and then a face appeared. Despite the green skin, it wasn't Lorne. He noted large, round eyes and a long snout. It was a Rodian. Anakin couldn't tell the gender because it wore a baggy grey smock.

"What do you want," asked the Rodian in Basic. "We're closed."

"I need to see Lorne," Anakin said. "I think you'll find he's expecting me."

"Wait here." Grumbling in its own language, the Rodian disappeared.

When the Rodian returned a moment later, it jerked its snout down the stairs in mute invitation.

The locks were reengaged behind Anakin as he went down the stairs and pushed through the bottom doors leading to the bar. The first thing he noticed was that it was all but empty. The second was that the club hadn't fared too well from the panicked mass exodus of earlier on in the night. The lights were on low. Still, the bar looked forlorn in the semi gloom. Almost everywhere tables had been overthrown and chairs broken in the mad dash. Plasto cups littered every surface. The discarded microphone was the only thing on the stage.

Some things were the same though. Sal was sat slumped at the bar. Lorne stood behind it. Sal saluted him with his cup and used his boot to scrape back the stool next to him. "Glad you could make it."

Anakin lowered the hood and took the proffered stool, noticing as he did that Lorne's smile was strangely resigned.

Seeing that Anakin had caught the expression, the Pylean's smile turned into a grimace. "So, what's your poison?" He gestured with his own tall plasto cup, topped with a bizarre, brightly coloured paper decoration. "Sorry, I'm all out of O2. Oh wait, wait, I forgot. You're a different type of hunk of hero sandwich. Not so much of the liquid lunch, huh. Good for you."

"I'm not a hero."

"Pfft! Like I haven't heard that before." Red eyes rolled, comically. "Do you guys get a script, because if you do get another one—this one's old hat, scarf and gloves. Next you'll be telling me all the wrongs you've been doing in the world …" Lorne paused, seeing Anakin's face freeze, "… And, oookay, I can see by your face not to go there."

There was an awkward pause. To break it and change the subject Anakin asked for something that wasn't potentially lethal.

"Coming up in two ticks."

"So," said Sal, eyeing him, "did you get a chance to find a medic? You look a little rough."

"I'm fine," Anakin lied.

"You don't look fine to me, kid."

At that, Anakin quirked an ironic brow. "Look who's talking."

"Good point." Downing his drink, Sal signalled for another one and asked, "Alright. Now we've got the 'you're okay and I'm okay' crap out of the way. Tell me what's with the blue flashing blade?"

Leaning his elbows on the bar, Anakin sighed and scrubbed his face, feeling like he'd had a bucket load of Qatar sand thrown in his eyes. "It's called a lightsaber. I've been trained to use one and I prefer them over a blaster."

"I knew that, actually." Sal turned in his seat to look at him fully. "The last I heard though only the Jedi used them—before they got wiped out."

Accepting the tall, cool cup handed him by Lorne, Anakin thought of Luke, his son. "You shouldn't believe everything you hear. The Jedi are making a comeback."

His face betrayed no reaction while inside he felt a twist of regret in his gut. Not regret that he'd failed to exterminate every remnant of the Order, but that he'd come so very close to doing so. To give himself something to do, Anakin sipped his drink and found it refreshingly fruity.

"Nice," he said to Lorne with a nod of thanks.

Lorne accepted the compliment with a gracious inclination of his head. "So, you're a Jedi? How about doing a stranger a favour and telling me what that is. I'm not exactly from around this neck of the woods—" he gave another grimace, this time self-directed "—hell, even the big toe for that matter. I just took a wrong turn somewhere back by Pluto and ended up in this Garden of Eden—snakes included."

"I'm not a Jedi," said Anakin, shortly. He didn't deserve the title and he wasn't sure he'd want it anyway. To forestall any further questions, he said to Lorne, "But I do need a room, and some information."

"What about that unit above mine," suggested Sal to Lorne. "The one that freakin' noisy Nandark moved out of last week."

"That would be died, not moved," he was caustically corrected.

If possible, the Pylean looked even more resigned than when Anakin had walked in. "Alright. A room I can do. It ain't the Ritz—not that you'd know what that is—but if you want it, then consider it yours." The green face brightened as a thought occurred to him. "In fact, when words get around about tonight, having you around will probably be good for business." The grin dimmed; a warning finger wagged. "Just don't go getting involved with any lawyers, y'hear?"

"I don't like lawyers," Anakin assured him.

"No, neither do I," sighed Lorne. "And don't ask me why. It's too painful."

"What information were you after?" Sal interjected, dark eyes curious in the pitted face.

"Everything you can tell me about Roth, who's running things, and the Narzgh."

Lorne and Sal shared a glance. "Yeesh! You don't want much do you?"

o~o~o

Councillors Oboné and Throm were watching the relay of the security holorecording with open mouths. They were in Padmé's reception room with the projection playing out in the space between matching pairs of emerald green couches. The images were incredibly life-like, if in miniature. On the deeply cushioned seat opposite, Padmé sat with her hands in her lap and waited for them to finish the viewing. Mostly she didn't watch, but every now and then her eyes would stray to Anakin's fiercely fighting figure. Lyonides had been right, she thought, aiming for dispassionate. It really was a magnificent display.

The recordings cut out when Anakin left the main streets and headed for the recycling plant on the very edge of the city. Thankfully, Security Minister Natar had neglected to install security cams in that particular area.

Throm recovered first. He looked between the two women, asking, "Do we know who this man is?"

"I don't know him," said Oboné, shaking her turbaned head, still stunned. "Is he new?"

"He is new," confirmed Padmé. "His name is Anakin Skywalker."

"Do we know anything else about him?" asked Oboné. "Where he comes from? What he did before death?"

"Some, but only the basic details taken at processing. They don't tell us much." Padmé shrugged, hating the lie, but she'd made her decision the night before. She would not unmask Anakin as Darth Vader, or reveal that he was her husband. If she came to regret that decision at some later point, then so be it.

"Has the Premier seen this?" asked Throm, gesturing at the frozen image of Anakin with his lightsaber held high and over his right shoulder, ready to cut a fresh swathe.

"He has," said Padmé, "and he's despatched a troop of security guards into the outer rim to search him out. As I understand it, he plans to question this man today at the next ministerial session. I'm also told that Lyonides has called a press conference and requested live feed, including play-back of what you've just seen."

"Smart move," whistled Throm. "He'll have the 'Hero of the Outer Rim' standing by his side on holovid within a day of the man tackling the Narzgh single-handed. It'll be an excellent boost to his popularity—"

"And add credence to his claims that city-wide security is his top priority," added Padmé bitterly. Standing, she walked to the window offering a panoramic view of the city. Her arms were tightly crossed, shoulders tense. It wasn't the heavy burgundy brocade of her dress that was weighing her down, but the future.

"Is there no way we can locate this Skywalker first?" asked Throm.

"And do what?" asked Padmé, not turning around. "Ask him not to accept whatever position Lyonides plans to offer him? That could be construed as treason."

She'd considered it and then discarded the notion. She had no idea how Anakin would view Pilas Lyonides. Considering his past history with authority figures, particularly cunning ones offering him praise and position, it was too risky.


	5. Chapter 5

**NOTES:**

(1)Thanks to my betas NIKEJ and YELLOWDART.

(2)I'm sorry for the delay in getting this up. Online time has been restricted for the last week.

(3)Thanks to those that posted a review. I'm so so glad you're enjoying it and really appreciate you letting me know. The signed reviews will have all had a response. Anon's are below:

Author response to: mlhkvh5

_This is another fantastic chapter! I really like Anakin/Vader/Padme stories, and this is one of the best I have ever read! You capture the way a meeting between the two of them would possible happen so well. Also, I really like the plot you have with the power hungry guy, and Anakin attracting his and others' attentions. He is a hero again. I am looking forward to how the story progresses, and also, how Anakin and Padme's relationship progresses. It needs time, with all that is going on, add the fact they are both very stubborn, and you have something volatile, with a lot of potential. I look forward to what happens in your next update!_

Aw! Thank you once again for making my day with your comments. I'm relieved as heck that the meeting between them struck you as realistic. It was a tough scene to write and Yellowdart (one of my betas) was invaluable at helping me with it. Anakin is indeed attracting a lot of attention and that won't always be a good thing, unfortunately. Thank you once again for the review and I hope that I don't disappoint either plotwise or with Anakin and Padmé's relationship (although I'm relieved that you're not expecting a quick resolution for that, lol).

**Chapter Five**

That night, Anakin's dreams made a mockery of his resolutions. Sometime during his sleep, the sheets had become tangled under his thrashing limbs. His heart pounded. Sweat drenched him. His throat was raw from moans of denial and pain. On his face tears intermingled with the sweat. In his mind, he relived the day he'd chosen a lie over goodness, decency and honour. Save Padmé or stay a Jedi: that was the choice Palpatine had given him. His all consuming love, his need for her had made it no choice at all. He couldn't live without her. He couldn't breathe without her.

But it had been a lie.

_Anakin, help me! Help, Anakin! Anakin, I love you. I love you. _Her face, wreathed with pain, pale with despair. Dying. He could smell the vile stink of a medcentre. In the background, Luke and Leia cried. The sight of Padmé broken by him, made him feel as if he were bleeding inside. He writhed in agony.

He really couldn't breathe. A weight was dragging at his chest. The night air was filled with the sounds of his ragged, wheezing lungs.

"Padmé. No! I didn't mean it."

On the thin, single-person cot, Anakin thrashed harder as the pain reached a crescendo. In the midst of his struggle a harsh sob tore from his throat. The dream had him fully in its grip and he was trapped in the past. Anakin knew that he would do anything to save her, help her. Anything! He couldn't let her die. It was impossible. Unthinkable. Every particle of his being had been united with that one single purpose.

The dream morphed without warning.

_You do know, don't you, if the Jedi destroy me, any chance of saving her will be lost._

Palpatine. They were in the Chancellor's office, alone. He was wearing his kindly mask: the fond, indulgent, supportive uncle.

Fury exploded. Unbridled rage swamped him, cording veins in Anakin's throat and arms. His back bowed, sending his body arching off the cot with a silent, wrathful howl—it was all a LIE! In his head, he was screaming, hurling accusations. _You wanted me to believe Padmé was going to die. You wanted me to think it was true. You wanted it to be true. You couldn't afford to let Padmé live. Why couldn't I see that? I should have seen that._

Even trapped in the dream a part of him knew he was railing uselessly at the past.

To confirm it, the dream morphed again. Palpatine's kindly mask was replaced by the hideous, pleading visage of the Sith Lord Sidious. His master. The master of lies. Anakin's rage grew hotter, molten. He'd been used. _You knew I wouldn't let you die. I hate you. I hate you for what you did to me._

Mace Windu was there too. Tall, powerful, resolved. _You can't kill him, Master. He must stand trial._

No, don't listen to me. Kill him. You were right. End it now before I can stop you. Kick me aside. Don't let me go on to become what I became. I'm begging you. Kill ME!

Impervious to his pleading—both real memory and dream—the deep, gravelly voice of the Jedi Master echoed in his ears. _He has too much control of the Senate and the Courts. He is too dangerous to be kept alive._

You were so right. If only I'd listened. If only I'd stayed away. If only it had been me sent to face Grievous instead of Obi-Wan. The longing in his heart for any of them to have been true was almost as painful as reality. If only. If only.

_It is not the Jedi way . . . He must live . . . I need him . . . NO!_

"NO!" Anakin awoke with the bellow ringing in his ears, and the memory of lightsabers igniting.

Jack-knifing upright, he fell off the bed with the sheets trailing after him. His chest was heaving. Raising a trembling hand, he felt the wetness of tears still on his face. A ragged sob choked in his throat. The memory of the moment that had defined the horror that was rest of his life was acid to his soul.

But it was nothing to the swelling, undiminished love he still felt for Padmé. Fear, the one emotion that had haunted him as Anakin, and been vanquished by Vader, awoke again—fully. In the darkness, still partially gripped by the dream, he felt twenty three again; embittered, uncertain, volatile. How could he possibly learn to live within sight of her, and not have her love? It was an impossible task. In a very real sense she'd been his reason for living. His attachment to her had been everything the Jedi Order had feared, and one he hadn't been able to consider losing. He would never have given her up willingly—not as Skywalker and not as Vader.

His epiphany of the day before was as cold as ash, ice in his gut. Worse, his resolve to learn to live without Padmé's love seemed a foolish fantasy borne of desperation. He was no longer surrounded by the pain of others to distract him from his own. It was as if the numbness their meeting had left him with had finally dispersed, leaving him open to the wounds he'd glossed over before. Sitting, trembling on the hard floor, it felt to Anakin as if he was being set up to fail again.

It also occurred to him that Vader had become a hundred times more monstrous after Padmé had died. The Sith abhor love, fearing it will sweep aside the dark side: which is why Vader had locked it away. Luke had saved him once, but his son was in the living world and unreachable. Without love, was Anakin doomed to fall back into the dark, cold void he'd only just wrenched himself free from?

Another, newer memory played across his mind.

_"Love turned me to the dark side, how can you now say that it also saved me from it? It's contradictory."_

_"You'll have plenty of time to meditate on the more complex elements on the second world. Understanding where we went wrong is an essential step to redemption."_

"What if you're wrong, Obi-Wan?" Anakin asked the darkness. "I can't afford for you to be wrong."

In his heart, fear unfurled its wings, feeding off the darkness within as well as without. Undone by the dreams and too overwrought to smother it, Anakin dropped his head in his hands.

o~o~o

"District DK98765 is through that entryway over there," said the droid, pointing with one of its three grey digits. "I'm not authorised to go any nearer than here."

"Here is fine," said Anakin. He got out of the speederbike's battered and torturously uncomfortable sidecar and paid the fare. After a nervous, swivelling glance around, the droid taxi shot off again.

He'd lied, Anakin saw, turning a slow circle to get his bearings, here was anything but fine. The buildings lining both sides of the street were stained and decayed. Instead of the opaque windows he'd seen in other areas, there were boards covered in colourful graffiti. Litter swirled around his feet. It also stank. The sweet sickly stench of over-ripe, never-emptied recyclers was almost overpowering. It was an olfactory assault not helped by the trapped, moist heat. The bright morning sun might not reach street-level, but nothing stopped the heat from gathering.

He wasn't even sure what he was doing here. Perhaps he was distracting himself? It was certainly true that he needed something, anything to do. Telling himself that the dreams and misery had merely been a moment of weakness—a reaction to seeing Padmé—had not been helping. He knew the bad night he'd spent was written all over him thanks to the dark circles under his eyes. He'd needed to get out, though. Strangers wouldn't care that he looked like he'd had a run-in with a hungry wampa.

Not that the strangers here seemed interested in approaching him, he noted.

The sound of the taxi had caused what denizens lived, or worked here to disappear into boltholes. Unfortunately for them, Anakin didn't need to see them to know they were there. A glance to the left caught out a red-faced Sarrish male who hadn't backed out of sight into a darkened doorway fast enough.

The Sarrish growled sullenly at being spotted and retreated faster.

Anakin dismissed him. The currents here were fraught with tremors of danger as well as the ever-present threat, but nothing that was focused enough to concern him. If that changed, he would know in advance. Keeping his cloak covering his lightsaber, Anakin ignored the other lurking lifesigns and headed for the alley the droid had pointed out. As he walked through, he wondered what could possibly be so bad about District DK98765 that the hell-hole he was leaving behind was considered better.

Of course the local name of 'Whores Hole' probably gave him a clue, Anakin mused, darkly.

He soon found out. The alley was narrow and the walls on either side were damp and dank to the touch. Unidentifiable things slithered underfoot that could only have come from the encircling forest. To the unwary, or the inebriated, this alley could be their downfall. The Sith aren't the only beings in the galaxy who prey on those weaker, or inattentive. The barely perceptible sound of fibercord rope being slyly lowered overhead would have gone unnoticed and unheard by most people. However, Anakin tracked the would-be attacker's slow descent through the Force as easily as if it had been announced.

Walking on as if he knew nothing, Anakin felt the waft of displaced air as the creature following him leapt from window ledge to window ledge, waiting for the right moment to launch the assault. He was feeling contrary enough to welcome the attack. Any distraction was a welcome one. Smiling grimly, he was forced to admire the dexterity and the resolve such manoeuvrings would require, if not the intent.

The end of the alley was only a dozen strides away when it came.

With the rasp of rope suddenly released from tension, a dark figure plummeted to earth, arrowing straight towards where Anakin would have been standing if he hadn't come to an abrupt halt at just the right moment. A small, slight creature landed nimbly with a foul curse for not having achieved its aim of knocking him to the ground. Recovering and whirling to face him, it brought up a small, blaster-shaped weapon. Anakin blocked the move with ease and wrenched the pistol away. At the same time, he yanked hard on the super-fine lines of fibercord, bringing the system of pulleys and rope down, and preventing escape.

With a hiss of fury, the figure tried to dart away. Only to come up fast as Anakin grabbed a fistful of hair at the back of the creature's neck. It went wild, cursing with ever increasing volubility and inventiveness when it couldn't break his grip.

It was like trying to hold onto a writhing infant gundark.

Raising his arm so that the creature dangled off the floor, he gave it a hard shake. "Stop it. That's enough. Learn to recognise when you're caught."

A gob of spit flew at his face, which Anakin avoided, snarling, "You have no idea how lucky you are that didn't land."

Pocketing the weapon for later inspection, he reached out and pulled off the crude hood that covered his attacker's face. Given the general shape; including two arms and two legs, he wasn't surprised to find a human face under the hood. He was, however, surprised to find a young and female one. Scanning filthy features that might be a dusky tan when clean, he roughly estimated her age as around fifteen standard years.

Despite his painful hold on the hair at her nape, she was glowering at him. He dropped her and grabbed her upper arm before she could recover enough to make a run for it.

"What's your name?" he asked her.

Hazel eyes shot sparks. "Go do yourself … "

Irritated, he muffled the rest of the foulness with a hand over her mouth, avoiding sharp teeth.

The girl didn't like being muzzled. She started to struggle again. Unfortunately for her, she was so slight it was an easy matter for Anakin to haul her around, cross her arms in front of her and simply walk them both out of the alley into the street. There, he dumped her with her wrists still cautiously shackled by his hands.

Her shrieks and cussing were deafening, but didn't garner any attention from the dense foot-traffic skirting them. They were standing at a busy intersection with numerous streets shooting off in all directions. The place was as crowded as a busy market—which, he supposed, it was in a way.

"Be silent!" he told her, his voice hard. He shook her again. "I haven't hurt you, though you deserve it for trying to steal from me, or kill me," he tacked on, "if that's what you were trying to do."

Letting go of one hand, he pulled out her pistol, examined and then held it up in front of her furiously red face. "This doesn't look like a blaster. What is it?"

Realising she couldn't break his hold, the girl puffed out an aggravated breath, and sulked. "It's a dart gun, stupid. I wasn't trying to kill you, just tranq you."

She looked and sounded so young that Anakin wondered at her being here in Roth at all. How could a person who was little more than a child need to atone? He didn't ask. It was too personal a question.

He kept his scowl in place. "So, your plan was robbery then?"

"Yeah, so?"

"What made you think I have anything worth stealing?" he asked, curious.

"Everyone has something." She shrugged bony shoulders. "Whatever it is, maybe it's something I need."

"I thought stealing was punishable by banishment?" He worked hard to hide it, but a part of Anakin reluctantly admired such a simple philosophy.

She had to tilt back her head to look up into his face, and then scoffed, "It is. You gonna report me, big guy?"

He thought about it for perhaps two seconds. "No, but you're not getting away it either. I have a job for you, little one."

Her face turned mulish and she tried to twist free. "I don't do pro work."

"I didn't mean that." He fought off a wave of revulsion at the thought. She was a child! "I'm looking for an old woman called Tenku," he told her stiffly. "You can pay your debt to me by helping me find her." He decided an incentive might make her co-operate better. "If you do a good job, I may actually pay you. Try earning a living instead of pilfering it."

"You have credits on you?"

He could literally see the cunning wheels turning in her mind. He tightened his fingers a fraction, thus making sure he had her attention. "If you try anything, I'll know and you'll be the one to pay—youngling or not."

She must have recognised the conviction on his face because her eyes widened and her lips formed an 'O'. Satisfied she'd got the message, Anakin let her go. She rubbed her wrists. Much more subdued, she asked, "What do you want her for?"

"You know her, don't you?" Anakin was abruptly certain of it. Her thoughts betrayed her. He could feel it, and the war going on inside the girl; a battle between selfish self-preservation and concern for a ... friend, perhaps?

"Maybe," she offered guardedly.

"Your fears are groundless," he told her, relaxing enough to offer a small smile. "I mean her no harm. You have my word."

Whether she believed him or not, the girl set off with Anakin in her wake. She took him on a zig-zag route, sometimes dodging down side-streets no bigger than alleys and just as filthy. It soon became clear that Whores Hole was like many other seedy red-light districts he'd had occasion to wander through. He'd been propositioned twice before he'd taken a dozen steps. Scantily dressed males and females loitered on corners, or gyrated suggestively from what would have been enormous windows if they'd been glazed. In-between, beggars rattled plasto buckets fastened with a secure lid to prevent stealing. Pick-pocketing, he imagined, was rife.

Everywhere the pungent aroma of intoxicating fumes wreathed between bodies, or plumed out as smoke from within yet more dark, recessed doorways. Anakin couldn't be certain, but he guessed this was the second-world's version of the death-sticks. At least half the people who passed them were smoking from tiny metallic pipes.

Overall it was a pitiless, pitiful sight.

Everyone he laid eyes on had the air of someone with somewhere to go, but with no real reason to go there. It seemed to him that the people here were merely existing between transactions. The lucky ones, Anakin thought, were the ones who got to leave again as soon as they'd got what they'd come for.

Despite the early hour, garish lights flashed from every doorway, colouring the scene with a sickly wash of yellow, green and red. Back on a main thoroughfare, he noticed that the road had once been paved with something like cermacrete, but now it was little more than rubble underfoot. There were no droids here to spread qatar sand, or clear away the litter. He didn't need to be told that there was also no security or community forces to run to if you got mugged, stabbed or shot—a distinct possibility judging by the roughness of some of the locals.

It was a squalid, hopeless no-go area except to those willing to take the risk, or those with no choice.

Which one was he, he wondered wryly? Neither, he could imagine Obi-Wan saying, you're just pig-headed. The thought made him smile, pleased that the errant voice didn't bring with it a side-order of painful guilt. He didn't think he could handle it.

"How much further to go?" he asked her as they passed a store advertising personal holovid cams with the slogan 'Wallow in every fetish and relive it again and again', emblazoned across its front.

"Not far. Just around the—" she began, glancing back at him. Something over his shoulder caused her to come to a sudden halt and go pale. "Oh, crap! Greesh!"

Anakin was already swivelling on his heel to face the threat. "Stay close to me," he told her.

"Are you kidding—?"

Three burly human men were bearing down on them. "Jude!" The lead one thundered. "I've been looking for you, you little swarf rat. You owe me money!"

Reaching them, the man tried to by-pass Anakin and swipe the girl out from behind him. Anakin simply moved so that he was squarely in the way again. They were of an equal height, but the other man had a good fifty pounds of extra weight.

"Look, friend," Anakin said, aiming for conciliatory while passing a hand between them. "Now isn't a good time. You have better things to do with your time. Go and do them."

For a second, it seemed the Jedi mind trick had worked, until …

A flushed, sweaty face was thrust too close to his. The whites surrounding mud-brown pupils were nearly as red as the cheeks. "I'm not your friend, _friend_. I'm Greesh, and I've waited on this whelp long enough. I want my credits." The man's breath made the stench of burning death-sticks smell like a summer garden. "Take a hint and get out of my way before I mess up that pretty face of yours."

Maybe it was tiredness, but, against his will, a red mist rose up in Anakin. Anger.

His fingers curled into his palms, clenching. Despite knowing he mustn't let it, the anger took hold. It wasn't the crack about his face that he found so insulting, it was being blatantly dismissed. Jude's insolence had been merely irritating. The careless indifference he'd met since coming here had been easy to flick off, but naked aggression wasn't. Two decades of commanding attention and instilling fear made such a thing from such a man impossible to swallow. Anakin would be the first to admit that pride had always been a weakness of his—as a child, a Jedi, a Sith, and now.

Pride and anger had helped with his downfall before, so he fought to shackle both now. He was going to swallow his pride, Anakin vowed. Vader was dead and he didn't want others to fear him. Not even this worm. He wanted to believe it.

Remember, your focus determines your reality.

The fool's two friends circled around them. Blue eyes icy but level, Anakin hauled the girl closer to him without taking his gaze from the leader. She was stiff with terror and her pulse hammered under his fingers. "I'll worry about my face," he said softly. "Now, here's a warning for you. Take the chance I'm offering you and leave before I have to hurt you."

"Leave … what? You … hurt me?" Greesh threw back his head and roared with laughter.

They were finally attracting attention. Sensing trouble, heads craned to see what was going on and bodies shuffled closer for a better view. The crowd somehow made it more intolerable. There were a good few snickers coming from other quarters too. Anakin fought to bank it, but the anger only blazed higher. For one terrible moment, the temptation to simply raise his hand and Force-choke Greesh was incredibly, overwhelmingly strong. Vader would have already done it, or worse. It took so little effort to choke, cripple or even crush a man and, as a demonstration, it was unequalled. That knowledge—that reminder—made him dizzy. It was an old friend leering at him, cajoling. If he let himself, Anakin could sweep all of them before him. Even now, the power of the Force was coursing through his living body, humming in his blood, racing along every nerve—doubling the enticement.

Nothing could be easier. He's been warned and chosen to disregard it. He's scum. Do it! You don't even have to give him time to suffer.

The effort it took to resist the temptation made him feel weak and lightheaded. A fist of fear squeezed his heart. The muscles in his legs shook and his gut churned. Coupled with the despair of the night before, he had to wonder … was the darkness in him really so close to the surface?

I mustn't. It would only take one moment of weakness. The urge retreated, battled back. He didn't have time to recover from his touch-and-go victory.

Abruptly, Greesh stopped laughing and whipped out a vibroblade. The hum of the blade was deadly as it flashed towards his throat. Ready for it, Anakin lashed out with a body-kick, pushing the man back a few staggering steps. The much more powerful hum of his ignited lightsaber caused the crowd to rear back in shock. Greesh was still off balance when Anakin slashed down with the saber in a two-handed grip. The first third of the vibro-blade was cut off with the first swipe and the second upward slice took it off to the hilt, leaving it smoking.

Anakin could have finished the man then and there. He hesitated, fearing his own instincts.

There was a shocked silence, then Greesh gave an enraged roar, reaching for the blaster holstered at his hip. Behind Anakin, Jude gave a yelp of warning. The crack-hiss of an energy whip made it unnecessary. The crowd scattered like lava beetles under threat of water, heading for shelter. Anakin shoved Jude away, sending her sprawling but in the clear. Snapping out another kick at the henchman wielding the whip, he deflected Greesh's bolts up at the sky rather than risk hitting a bystander. The third henchman also had a blaster. Whirling and crooking his right arm, he sent the bolts back into the man's knees. The man toppled, groaning.

On his left, the energy-whip curled through the air, ready to snap around his head, decapitating him. Jaw tight, Anakin deflected more of Greesh's bolts, waiting for the whip to unfurl and lash, then side-stepped, lunged, and struck out with the 'saber, severing the acid yellow strip. Whirling the blue blade, he spun in a 360º turn and flipped to confuse Greesh's aim. Assuming a sorescu stance, he then picked up speed so that he was racing towards the man. All hesitation was gone. He was going to end this—the honourable way.

Panicking, Greesh kept firing as he hurriedly retreated, yelling for back-up.

Blank-faced and resolved, Anakin deflected every bolt—and kept going.

He didn't make it. At just the wrong moment, Greesh's back-up came streaming from around the nearest corner, bowling over an unwary male Vultan as they did. This time, they were a mixture of human and near-human. Unkempt hired thugs, Anakin judged. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on your point of view, a blaster didn't require much skill. He counted twenty before the blaster fire was thick enough that he had to retreat, or accept the need to maim and kill.

He hadn't come here today to kill, or to fight for that matter. Frustration simmered, but didn't boil. The rage of before had been too thoroughly doused by his inner battle of earlier to reignite. Pride had been similarly banished. Anakin's mind was once again clear. He hadn't picked this fight. The outcome was insignificant in the bigger picture, he told himself. All he had to do was get away.

Easier said than done.

A quick glance behind proved that Jude had been wise enough to have already disappeared. Good, he only had to worry about himself. Using the Force, he leapt up onto the canopy of a tavern then raced along the length with his boots ringing on the metal. Blaster-fire kept coming thick and fast. The lightsaber flashed and hummed in a ceaseless blur of defensive movement as Anakin headed for the balcony he'd spotted two meters up. Skidding to a stop just underneath it, he braced himself, bent his knees and used the Force once again to fuel his jump.

Landing nimbly on the balcony, he switched off the lightsaber. Down below, Greesh's men piled into the tavern after him. Putting on a fresh burst of speed, Anakin flew inside and past an entwined, naked couple. Their startled faces were gaping at him. As he passed, he left a terse apology behind him. The room held little more than a bed and a comms-console. The stink of stale musk was gaggingly strong. Luckily the room was also small. Rather than have to slow down, he used a Force-push to activate the door control while he was still some distance away, streaking through before it had opened fully.

The outside corridor included a flight of stairs. Greesh's men were already rushing up them. Stopping at the top, Anakin reengaged his 'saber to efficiently deflect another volley of bolts, sending some back to their originator's lower bodies. He was wasting time, he realised. The longer he stayed here, the more chance there was of a pitch-battle: something he wanted to avoid. Whipping up a hand, he sent the rest toppling back down the unforgiving durasteel stairs. Another hand-movement later, the metal rail—complete with built in viewscreens showing questionable amorous liaisons—was wrenched from its moorings to crash down on top of them, just to make sure.

Of course that meant with the stairs blocked, he had to find another way out, he realised frustrated anew.

The shower of sparks the last tactic had caused set off the fire alarms. A muted klaxon started. As a result of the alarm, the door opposite slid open and a cautious head popped out. Blatantly taking advantage, Anakin pushed past the sheet-draped woman, ignoring her squawking protests and jogged to the glassless window. A glance down at the side-street below revealed more of Greesh's men. An instant later the spot where his head had been was being peppered with red bolts.

"Don't go near the window," Anakin warned the woman as he strode back towards the door.

"Oh, ya'think?!" she hollered sarcastically after him.

Back in the corridor, Anakin noticed a grille halfway up the wall. Moving towards it, he felt the waft of cool air. It was an air conditioning system. After yanking out the grille, he stuck his head inside and found it was more than big enough for him. There were even rungs for easy maintenance access. Climbing in, Anakin reattached the grille behind him.

Five torturously slow minutes later, he was standing on the sloping roof. The drop to the ground was significant. The jump to the next roof was considerably less so. He sailed over the oblivious heads waiting on the street below. Two more roof jumps later, Anakin slid to the edge of the shortest and then let himself fall with his cloak billowing out behind him.

One meter.

Two meters.

Three meters.

Four meters.

He landed with a crunch of boots on uneven ground. And to the sound of clapping.

Not everyone had scattered to minimum safe distance. The four-armed clapper was a bulky male Besalisk standing on the wooden boardwalk surrounding yet another tavern. Anakin was reminded of Obi-Wan's diner-owning friend on Coruscant. Yellow eyes in a heavy brown, avian face gleamed with dark amusement. "Not bad … for a human."

Next to the Besalisk stood a human female wearing a concealing helmet, skin-tight revealing clothes and enough armament to start a war in her own right. There was something about her that made Anakin think bounty hunter. The same could be said for the blue-skinned Chiss male lounging nearby. They weren't the only ones.

"Are we about to have a problem now?" asked Anakin, tiredly.

The Besalisk spread two of his four arms. "Not today, Jedi."

o~o~o

Padmé had long become used to her conflicted feelings about visiting the temple in Whores Hole. Duty compelled her to go, but she always dreaded the moment when she would have step into the speeder that would wing her here. She hated being put into a position of judging people, but what else could you do when you were forced to stare into the unhidden face of depravity? Even seeing it second-hand was desperately demoralising. For days afterwards, any work she did as Councillor was done by rote until she could regain her equilibrium and faith in people. That wasn't how she liked to work.

She shouldn't have come today, she realised, not when she was hopelessly off-balance already.

As usual, the visit had begun with a tour. For once, Padmé let Oboné take the lead and make the approving noises. Built in the style of the Old Republic it reminded her of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant except on a much smaller scale. Thirty meters high with an open front and colonnaded columns, the one-time temple had gone to ruin centuries ago. Even so, hemmed in and dwarfed on three sides by dull grey, anonymous rectangle-shaped buildings, it was by far the most aesthetically pleasing to look upon. The sunny courtyard allowed by the gap in buildings was also a huge plus.

Workshops had been created in the main, central chamber. Dormitories fanned out from it with the utility and medical areas at the rear. It was designed to be a bolt-hole for anyone desperate enough to need it. If they wanted to, residents could learn skills here that might aid them in getting out of the district altogether. Any credits earned from the production of goods and services were funnelled back into the maintenance of the temple and the people. Its caretaker and guardian was an irascible old woman called Tenku. From what Padmé knew of her, the temple's guardian had a history every bit as spotty as the building itself.

"You seem a little distracted today," commented Oboné as they walked back towards the main exit.

"I am a little off," admitted Padmé with a grimacing half smile, yanking her thoughts away from wondering if Lyonides had found Anakin yet. "Please tell me it wasn't that obvious?"

"I noticed because I know you well, but I doubt many others would have seen it."

It all seemed to boil out. "I hate coming here. I hate seeing how young some of them are—and knowing that one night they'll slip back out to earn the credits they need for a fix. It's a despicable, self-defeating cycle that just seems to feed on itself and get fatter. Sometimes I wonder if I'm wrong to keep blocking Natar's requests for hard-line tactics. Am I so fixated on preserving freedom that I can't see when it's harmful rather than good?"

Oboné pursed her lips for a moment. "I don't believe you're wrong. Addiction, fantasy and dependency are just some of the ways people use to escape fear for a time. Waving a blaster in front of their faces won't change that."

"All right, I agree, but what will?"

"Remove the fear and the problem will certainly reduce, if not disappear."

It was a discussion they'd had countless times in the past. Padmé felt the tension headache gripping the base of her skull loosen its vicious vice. "Thank you, old friend," she said, grasping a large callused hand to give an appreciative squeeze. "I do know all this, but I needed to hear it again for some reason."

The hand-squeeze was returned with a smile. "Don't mention it. Even the hardiest campaigner gets discouraged from time to time. I guess you're due."

There was no time for more as wizened old Tenku was standing on the top step, waiting to bid them goodbye. The old woman was wearing her usual multiple layers of rags draped over a tiny, bony frame. Hoping to allay some of her guilt for being so quiet and remote, Padmé opened her mouth to speak, only to snap it shut again when the sound of yells reached them. In tandem, the three of them turned to the courtyard below.

A slight figure in fitted, dark clothing was pelting across the stone flags. Tenku shuffled down the steps to meet the newcomer. Confused and mildly alarmed, Padmé and Oboné followed.

The figure was a girl. They reached the bottom step in time to hear only part of what she was saying between gasps for breath. " … He wanted me to help find you. He said it was okay and not to worry. I guess I thought he looked alright. Then Greesh turned up. He wanted me. It turned into a big fight. I just left—"

"Greesh?" Padmé queried quietly to Oboné.

"Men-sol Greesh," Oboné supplied, curling her lip in disgust, "An unlovely human and originally from the Malastare system. He's suffering with delusions of grandeur—fancies himself as the local Hutt. He started out as a credit-shark about fifteen years ago and then moved up into harder criminal activity. He has a reputation for having a vicious temper and holding grudges. He's mostly just a bully though. There are, unfortunately, beings a lot worse than him slithering around here."

Padmé quirked a brow, surprised and displeased. "And he's never been brought to justice?"

"He never leaves The Hole to be arrested."

That answer was all that was needed. It was common knowledge that the police and security teams wouldn't come into The Hole for any reason. They even stopped sending in security droids due to the expense of replacing them. Based on reports coming out of Natar's office, security cams lasted about ten standard minutes before being ripped off and destroyed.

All musings stopped when another raised voice rang out across the courtyard. A man came into view, limping fast. Tall and heavily built, he held a blaster in his hand. The voice was rough, hoarse and nearly incoherent with rage. "Jude! Where are you, you little …" His eyes settled on the girl. He hobbled faster with a manic expression on his thickly fleshed face. "There you are. Thought you'd cause some trouble, did you? Well, I've got you now. I knew you'd slink off here."

Two more men appeared, coming from the left side of the opposite building. Without taking his feral gaze off the four women, Greesh yelled for them to stand guard. "Don't let anyone past, got it?"

Tenku sent the girl away with a push, hissing for her to hide herself. Sobbing, Jude rushed up the stone steps and into the shade of the entrance. Padmé, with Oboné next to her, moved to stand beside the old woman. Thankful not to be wearing some ornate dress, but a more serviceable bodysuit and cloak, Padmé flicked superfast through potential scenarios for defusing this situation. Whatever the situation might be. Unfortunately none seemed likely to succeed. The man looked wildly out of control, even frenzied.

As he approached, his lips curled back to show yellow-stained teeth. "Get out of my way."

Tenku stood her ground despite being half his height. "You leave that girl alone, Men-Sol Greesh. She owes you nothing—"

A brutal back-handed blow knocked the old woman aside. A meaty hand shot out and grasped Padmé's right shoulder, ready to shove her aside too. Disgusted, Padme was too quick for him. Reaching up, she grabbed his fingers, wrenching hard as she twisted her body away. As she'd intended his arm came with her. A snap-kick to the back of one knee sent him crashing to his knees with a roar of pain. If he'd been alone her defensive attack might have worked. As it was, Oboné gave a yelping shout and lunged in front of Padmé. The sound of a blaster seemed to come afterwards, but then she saw Oboné slump.

Padmé's heart stuttered. The distraction was enough that the much much bulkier Greesh was able to yank his arm free and stagger back to his feet. Off-balance, Padme landed hard on her own hands and knees. When she looked up, the maniac's blaster was levelled at Padmé's face.

"Think about what you're doing," she demanded, rising slowly with her hands out to her sides. "I'm a councillor, and so is the woman who has already been shot by your friends. Do you really want to do something else that you'll regret?"

Mud brown eyes blazed. "Do you think you can bear witness if you're dead, Councillor?" he asked, harshly. There was spittle on his lips and sweat dripped down his cheeks.

He rank didn't faze him. He would kill her as easily as he would squash a bug. Padmé stiffened, but didn't back down. Inside, she was sincerely regretting leaving her own side-arm at home. Stupid, she thought, berating herself. Ice shot up her spine and her heart began to pound. She desperately wanted to go to Oboné and see how badly the woman was hurt. "You're out of control. You need to calm down."

"I'm perfectly in control here and I don't need to think about what I'm doing. I know exactly what I'm doing," Greesh spat. "Nobody runs out on me, owing me money and then sics some crazy on me."

"I'm sure she didn't mean to cause you so much trouble," said Padmé, slipping into peacemaker mode. The blaster was still aimed at her head. She refused to think about the likelihood of failing. "She's a child. Please, why can't you just leave?"

To the left, eyes wide and face slack with shock, Oboné was being helped by Tenku. There was blood on the old woman's lips and a bruise already forming on one fragile cheek. Padmé tried to see where Oboné had been hit, but didn't dare break her eye-lock with Greesh for too long. They were all suffering from fear and shock, both natural reactions to finding themselves confronted with a blaster-wielding maniac. What she hadn't expected was for Greesh to suddenly jerk around, sweat soaking through his tunic like water and screaming like a woman.

Then she heard the unmistakable sound of a lightsaber.

Before her shocked gaze had lengthened to take in Greesh's two henchmen, the heart-stoppingly familiar figure of Anakin had already dealt with them. Burly and heavily armed or not, they seemed to just fall to the side as if bowled over by a tremendous force.

The speed of what happened next was shocking. Yet, Padmé seemed to view it in slow motion. Greesh backed away, firing wildly at Anakin. The man's yells were full of denial and fury. She heard the raging words as if her head was underwater. Across the incongruously sunlit courtyard, she focussed on Anakin's intense, set expression. His lips were peeled back to show clenched teeth. Then he seemed to just leap into the air, arcing high and long, covering meters in a second. The moment he landed, Greesh's pistol leapt out of the man's sweaty grasp and into Anakin's own hand.

One, humming swirl of the lightsaber later, the long blade rested singeingly close to Greesh's neck. "Get down on your knees," Anakin ground out. "Now!" His savage tone sent a shiver down her spine. If Greesh had looked wild, Anakin was stone with the lightsaber was merely an extension of him.

Eyes wheeling and Adam's apple bobbing, Greesh fell heavily to his knees. "Don't kill me. Mercy, I ask for mercy."

Padmé saw Anakin's fingers tighten around the hilt of the lightsaber. As she watched the knuckles went white. Gods! He was going to kill him. Jerking into motion with a hand outstretched, she opened her mouth, intent only on saving the man's life and innocents from the sight of an execution. Then Anakin relaxed visibly and the pulsing blue blade moved away a few inches.

Halting again after only one step, Padmé snapped her mouth shut, waiting. Uncomprehending. She could breathe though. The terrible, tense vibrations of imminent death receded. She stared at both men, one helpless and on his knees before the other.

"Consider yourself fortunate that I'm in no position to judge anyone. I'll leave that to those that are." To her ears, Anakin sounded sincere—and tired. "Your fate is in their hands."


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks to YellowDart and NikeJ for the hard work they do as beta!

The usual disclaimers etc apply. Thank you so much for the amazing reviews. Replies should have been received by you all.

**Chapter Six**

Padmé didn't look too composed. In fact, she looked like he'd floored her. Then she snapped back to awareness, flushing. "I'm fine," she said, dropping her gaze. "But my friend isn't. Excuse me."

Anakin stepped aside. She strode past him to hunker down beside a large, dark-skinned human and Tenku. Feeling out of place, he kept his distance. The two women were glancing between Padmé and him, obviously having seen something unusual in their reaction to one another. That thought made him feel even more uncomfortable. He dropped his own gaze to the floor, hoping that his face hadn't betrayed every wretched emotion.

Why in Chaos had he come here? He should have stayed away. He should have tried harder to meditate instead of giving in to the need to do something, reach out to someone and distract himself somehow. He'd made an impetuous decision and all it had done was bring him face to face with her again.

This meeting was the last thing he'd needed. After last night, he'd needed time to calm down, adjust and accept.

Also, he didn't need to be told that his coming here had caused a starshipload of trouble that likely wouldn't have occurred without his presence to incite it. A penchant for trouble had always plagued him as Skywalker—and one he thought he'd long since been rid of.

Apparently not.

Trying not to look as if he was watching her every move, Anakin saw Padmé gently examine the fiery, raw weal marring her friend's forehead. It looked to be the only wound. A white turban had also suffered damage from the blaster bolt, falling into singed folds around her neck. Reaching out, he found the woman's lifeforce to be strong. There was no fading here. Padmé's friend was still fully enmeshed in life. If things were different between them, he would have knelt beside her and assured her there was nothing to worry about.

As it was, he hung back.

"Two millimetres to the left and you'd have a hole in your head," Padmé joked shakily, raising a wan smile from the invalid. "Can you stand?"

"To get out of here, absolutely" the other woman declared with a grimace. "Just don't blame me if I lose the distressingly ample breakfast I ate this morning. If that looks likely, I'll try to aim elsewhere."

"You'd better." Padmé grinned to bolster her. "These boots are new."

Not a small woman by anyone's standards, the manoeuvre was tricky until Anakin said, "Here, let me help." Smoothly replacing Tenku, he placed his fingers around the other upper arm, offering effortless support as he raised her to her feet. Despite the painful-looking wound, dark eyes ringed with gold eyed him with deep curiosity as they made the transition to upright.

He was thanked warmly for his assistance. Stiffly, Padme performed the introductions. "Councillor Oboné is a very dear friend of mine as well as a colleague. Oboné, may I present—"she faltered as if unsure what title to use, then seemed to reach a decision. "—Master Skywalker."

"Just Anakin Skywalker will do fine," he corrected, stepping back and failing to hide a wince. His reaction was knee-jerk. He'd never attained the rank of 'Master'. The Jedi Council had been too suspicious of him—rightly suspicious. He added it to the list of those he wasn't comfortable with. The mental list now consisted of two-Jedi and Master.

Now if only people would stop foisting them on him.

Oboné seemed to approve. Despite being a little unsteady, she held out a large, callused hand to be shaken, saying, "Simple is better. Personally, I have fifteen names, which is why I only ever use one."

"I agree. Who needs that headache?" Relaxing, Anakin decided that he liked her, and not just because the woman had the courage to put herself between a friend and danger. Courage and loyalty were two traits he'd always admired—directness was a third, and he sensed that gift in this woman. He didn't wonder that Padmé considered her a friend. He found comfort in that.

In the middle of his musings, he was distracted by the familiar whine of a repulsorlift engine. Glancing up to the sky, Anakin saw a small freighter bearing an insignia he didn't recognise hovering overhead. Snub-nosed and compact, it was small enough to land in the courtyard and began to lower. The air around them churned, forcing them back. His hand went automatically to the lightsaber he'd clipped back on his belt.

"It's one of Lyonides' security scouts. They've been looking for you since last night," Padmé told him. Her face was expressionless, but he knew the nuances of her voice well enough to recognise a mild loathing. Alerted, he wondered about it.

"So I've heard," he replied, lightly. "I was thinking of letting them find me … sooner or later."

The slight figure of Tenku shuffled over to stand on his left, saying dryly, "Brace yourself, boy. I think sooner has just arrived. Probably some snake in The Hole thought they'd earn a reward by reporting your latest antics. It's not exactly a secret in Roth that the Premier wants a chat."

It seemed she was right. The freighter landed and the ramp lowered, disgorging two of its contingent.

o~o~o

"He's very compelling, isn't he?"

The question jolted Padmé. Her first thought was an acknowledgement. He'd always been impossible to ignore. She was careful to keep her voice too low to carry. "Yes, I suppose he is."

Laid flat on a hoverstretcher and pumped full of painkillers, Oboné was too blissed out to worry about anybody overhearing. "Oh, hush! 'Suppose.' Bah!"

"Oboné, please!" Padme didn't need to look to the opposite bench where Anakin sat to know that he could hear every word. Mortified, she wished she'd refused the offer of a more comfortable flight to the medcentre. Then she felt guilty. The speeder would have been horribly cramped, and the onboard first aid kit didn't include the type of drugs available on a military transport.

She just had to get the topic off Anakin, that was all. She latched onto the first alternative that came to mind. "I'll be coming in with you to wait until you've been treated and then take you home."

Raising her head off the stretcher a touch, Oboné's eyes sharpened enough to prove that she wasn't out for the count yet. "You can't do that. You have to be there when Lyonides tries to pour on the honeyed charm, slathering it all over our new hero so that he does what he wants."

"I—you…what?" She finally managed to frame a sentence. "You think Lyonides has honeyed charm?"

Oboné's dark eyes crossed comically and she closed them, lowering her head again and sighing, "Never mind, you get my drift."

Unfortunately, she did.

Frowning, Padmé focussed on a manacled Greesh seated on another moulded plasto bench, sandwiched between two guards on the port side of the cramped transport freighter. The security detachment differed greatly from the more decorative Rothian Guard: instead of a uniform, they wore full body armour the colour of dull bronze. With their deceptively stubby E-33 carbine rifles, they reminded Padmé strongly of the clone troopers. She tried not to hold that against them.

"I don't see what my presence there will accomplish."

"You could try cosying up to him first." Oboné's attempt at a conspiratorial whisper seemed loud enough to create an echo.

"Cosy up—!" Padmé shot upright so hard the top of her head almost connected with an overhanging storage compartment. She broke the conversation with a terse, "Why don't you try going to sleep?" Red-cheeked and stiff, she risked a glance at Anakin and found him in casual conversation with the trooper on his right. Relief swamped her. It also occurred to her to wonder if he'd done it deliberately. It didn't matter, she decided, frantically clinging to the hope that he hadn't heard Oboné's suggestion.

Gods! Apart from the impossibility of such a thing, she remembered all too clearly his revulsion for the underhand tactics of some politicians. It had been a point of view they'd shared, like so many things. Until opposing opinions on Palpatine's emergency powers had started a rift, the first of many cracks to appear.

Like so many, the memory was a painful one. Stop it! She admonished herself, clenching her fists and staring fixedly at a point on the ceiling. Stop thinking about the past. You keep doing it, and yet you hurt no-one but yourself.

Obligingly, Oboné did as she suggested and dropped off to sleep. A moment later, Padmé forced her thoughts to travel elsewhere, turning to the exchange she'd witnessed between Anakin and Tenku.

If only it had been illuminating instead of confusing.

She'd had to stand aside as the onboard medtech trooper had seen to Oboné. Her retreat to give the man room had taken her within hearing distance of Anakin and Tenku. She'd overheard the old woman ask him what had been so important that he'd gone in search of her.

Interested despite herself, Padmé had turned enough to see him shrug, embarrassed, saying, "I wanted to thank you for helping me."

"You did that already."

"Yes, but I didn't mean it. Now I do."

Solemn faced, he'd held out his hand. Squinting suspiciously, Tenku had held her own out too. Anakin pressed a bag of credits into the tiny, dry palm, closing the old woman's fingers over it. "Thank you."

Even in retrospect, Padmé's heart clenched. It had been an oddly compelling scene with the tall, vital young man and the tiny, wizened old scrap of a woman. Even the Anakin of old, before Vader, wouldn't have noticed such as Tenku—-seeing her as neither threat nor ally. He had always been so focused on goals that the little things had passed him by. Not so now, it seemed. She didn't have a clue how to interpret that, so zeroed in on the question uppermost in her mind. What could they possibly have in common? Blankly bemused all over again, Padmé could only wonder how the two had met, and what Tenku had done to earn Anakin's gratitude.

Only one thing was certain and that was that nothing was going the way she'd expected.

o~o~o

The gulf between the technology rich core and the backward outer rim was striking. The landing bay in central Roth marked the beginning of Anakin's second visit to the core, and the differences were immediately obvious. Once they stepped off the ramp onto the smooth grey floor, their escort surrounded them in an efficient perimeter. Padmé was forced to walk at his side. Her thoughts must have been running parallel to his own.

She waved a hand at the pristine and efficient terminal, thick with ships of all sizes, busy droids, uniformed troopers, speeders and bikes. "It's like two worlds in one city, isn't it?"

"It certainly seems a lot more automated in the core."

Anakin eyed a thick cluster of flat view-screens attached to the ceiling in the very centre. It looked like a giant, black, three-dimensional eye alternately scrolling data or showing ships departing and arriving. Squat droids were monitoring them constantly and updating a series of consoles underneath.

"We've run out of living accommodation in safer districts of the city, so rather than face that issue, Lyonides had been importing more and more droids to the do the work."

"So much for bettering yourself and getting a job in the core that lets you leave the outer rim."

"Exactly."

Anakin sensed that she wanted to say more, but was holding herself back. It bothered him enough that he didn't let is slide. "There's more isn't there? What aren't you telling me?"

Reaching a turbolift, they stepped inside along with their escort. She didn't look at him. "Lots, but I've decided to let you find out for yourself. Don't worry. I'm sure you won't have to wait long."

She didn't trust him with her opinions. It hurt, peeling back fresh wounds. He could so easily recall a time when he would have been able to push her, refusing to accept secrets. That memory goaded him. "Do you trust me so little that you won't even share your opinion?"

The lift began to ascend smoothly. In contrast, Padmé's glance was laser sharp. "Have you forgotten that the last time I gave you my opinion on politics, you hinted at treason?" She spoke low so only Anakin could have heard her.

He'd just had to prod. "I was wrong."

Looking at him, she relented. "My opinions are public record, so I suppose it can't hurt. I refuse to support a government that enforces the rule of one unilateral leader. I've been fighting for a democracy in Junga Roth for years, but with limited success." She paused, adding significantly, "I don't expect you to feel the same."

"Why?" he asked, "Because I've supported a dictatorship before?"

"That," she agreed, "and the fact that you've been enforcing that same dictatorship for decades. You can't deny it Anakin."

The condemnation in her eyes forced him to look away. "I wasn't going to try."

There didn't seem to be anything left to say. He'd lost her trust. Remorse wasn't anywhere good enough. In uneasy silence, they exited the turbolift—to blindingly bright, flashing lights. If it wasn't for the lack of menace, Anakin might have thought they were under attack. Well, they were in a way. Un-squinting his eyes with one hand lifted to shield them, he saw it was a media crew, or, more accurately, a gaggle of them. The more aggressive elbowed their way to the front. Holocams bristled in the throng. All persons present were human. The only thing that stopped a stampede was the presence of heavy-duty cordons. Still, questions came thick and fast, hurled through the air.

An exotic looking female with glossy hair swept up in a series of dark knots got in the first question. "Anakin Skywalker, are you related to the Jedi Knight who was known as the 'Hero Without Fear' during the Clone Wars?"

After that, it was little more than a cacophony of sharp, demanding voices, with only a few rising above the rest enough to heard.

"You fight with a lighsaber, a Jedi weapon. Are you a Jedi?"

"What made you decide to take on the Narzgh single-handed?"

"What offer is the Premier preparing to present to you?"

And, seeing Padmé, some directed their questions to her. "Councillor, has the Premier authorised you to make an offer to the 'Hero of the Outer Rim'? If so, what does it involve?"

"No comment."

"Councillor Amidala, you've come to the palace together. Do you know each other? Have you met before?"

Padmé pushed through, using the small gangway left for them to pass and deftly avoiding grasping hands. "No comment."

A persistent male wearing triangulated face paint grabbed Anakin's arm as he went to pass by. "What is a Jedi doing in Junga Roth? The current belief is that the Jedi are extinct."

"I'm not a Jedi. Now excuse me." Having said all he was willing to say, Anakin pulled free and followed in Padmé's wake, before he was tempted to shove some of those recorders into various bodily orifices.

He caught up with her shortly after she'd disappeared down a short, spotless corridor. "That was just the first gauntlet," she warned him as he drew up. "Brace yourself for more. Lyonides is aiming for full publicity."

"I appreciate the warning."

A short skyride later, they were stopped at a security checkpoint. The questions were tedious and the double-checking extensive. Even the troopers had to have their hand prints verified. Next came the search. It was a tense moment while Anakin wondered if they would try and take his lightsaber off him. Strangely enough, they didn't try.

"Be glad that you're human," Padmé told him when they finally cleared. "Paranoia over terrorism makes them brutal to non-humans."

"Terrorism?"

She shook her head, refusing to be drawn. "You'll find out."

There was no time for more anyway. On the other side and through an archway, they were met by a delegation headed by a tall, thin human draped head to toe in black. With the exception of the leader, the group of four were wearing lavish ornamental robes. Two wore headdresses. Despite it all, they were easily out-shone by the vista behind them. Lush scenery tamed into geometric patterns led up to a sprawling stone palace. Anakin was strongly reminded of Theed. The sun was setting, washing the scene with a heavy reddish-gold glow. At the top of stone steps leading to those verdant gardens, their welcoming committee stood watching as Padmé and Anakin were brought before them.

The commander in charge of their escort snapped off a salute to the man in black. "Anakin Skywalker as requested by the Premier, Minster."

A thin-lipped smile crossed a gaunt face. "Very well, and about time."

Deep set, colourless grey eyes turned to the pair. "Welcome, Anakin Skywalker. I am Security Minister Guil Natar. You're a hard man to track down." A beat later, Natar bowed stiffly to Padme. "Councillor. How nice—and surprising—to see you arriving with our guest."

Making a snap judgement, Anakin decided he really didn't like the man. "We were in the same place and caught the same ride here."

"Oh, and where was that?"

"Whores Hole," shot back Padmé. "You might know it."

"I see, and no, not intimately. I don't normally have occasion to go there."

"Of course you don't. It's an oasis of peace and filled only with law-abiding citizens. Why would a man dedicated to the security of the city's people need to visit such a place?"

The thin lips pinched, souring, "I see you're well after your … escapade, and as sarcastic as ever?"

"Not at all, I merely call it as I see it."

Wisely deciding not to continue the confrontation, Natar bowed again and gestured to the palace behind them, saying, "Perhaps you would like to go on ahead. I'm sure the Premier will forgive your casual attire this one time. You really must hurry. The rest of the council and guests are already gathered and seated, barring yourself and the injured Councillor Oboné. You don't want to lose your place."

Inclining her head, Padmé consented to go with only a brief glance at Anakin.

"A headstrong young woman with passionate opinions," said Natar, seeing that Anakin was watching her go. "It's a great pity when people die young don't you think? Maturity might have given her more realistic perceptions and ambitions."

Anakin flicked his eyes at the man without turning his head. "I think you mean jaded."

One of the other delegates tittered. Red spots of furious colour washed in, and then out, of Natar's pasty cheeks. He recovered well. "You yourself are forty five, I gather. Forgive me, but you don't look it."

"So I'm told, but that doesn't change my date of birth." Fed up of the man and his pointed barbs, Anakin got moving, once again following in Padmé's wake. He wanted this 'meeting' over with. If Lyonides was anything like his minion, then he figured it was going to be … unpleasant.

With no choice, the others followed him.

"Oh quite, quite," said Natar, obligingly, falling back into step. He coughed, and then continued, "By the way, I was impressed by your remarkable performance last night—we all were. You're quite the hero. Yet, regrettably, we have very scant information on you. Perhaps after the audience you would consent to an interview so that we may…pad out our records a bit."

Just because he could, Anakin increased his stride, forcing the others to flap after him like distressed hawk-bats. "I sincerely doubt it. I'm not big on interviews. What does the premier want to see me about?" He tossed in the last to see if he could surprise out an answer.

Unfortunately it didn't work. "Ah, I think he'll want to bring that up himself. We'll be there shortly. It's just this way."

o~o~o

Padmé felt the tension in packed audience chamber as everyone inside strained to get a glimpse of Anakin as he strode through the heavy wooden double doors. She had to admire his aplomb. There was no sign of nerves anywhere on his face or body. Frowning, she realised that was another change from the man she'd known. Previously Anakin had frequently shown agitation or tension, or at least tension when pushed into an arena he abhorred-primarily politics. Not so now.

She was nervous enough for the both of them, she realised.

Lyonides had adopted his usual stance of standing braced with his legs spread and hands behind his back. Behind him, his heavily carved 'throne' perched unused. As the holocams of the assembled media elite whirred, he smiled expansively. "Ah, the hero of the hour, at last. Welcome, Anakin Skywalker …" he paused, cocking his head, " … or is it Jedi Knight Skywalker? I'm afraid we're a little bit confused on that topic. Perhaps you could start off by enlightening us."

Padmé sucked in a shocked breath at the barely concealed challenge, but if she'd been expecting Anakin to become flustered, she was proved wrong. Stopping dead centre of the floor, he didn't so much as glance at the throng encircling him. It might have been only him and Lyonides. Giving a brief bow, he said, "As you wish. It's very simple. I'm not a Jedi."

It wasn't the words, but the composed, succinct reply that had her gaping. A wave of mutters passed among the ranks, passing over and around her like ocean spray.

Lyonides' brows rose. "I see, but you've been one in the past, perhaps?"

Anakin gave a cool smile. "I was given some training, but the Order and I parted ways many years ago—not on the best of terms."

"Many years ago?"

"Yes, many years ago."

"I see. And these rumours about you being some celebrated General from the Clone Wars, are those similarly incorrect? I should warn you that there are those who can clearly recall an Anakin Skywalker from that volatile time. Such fantastical tales are being told all around the city—some swear that you are the very image of him." Lyonides held up his hands in a strong hint of mockery. "The 'Hero With No Fear', or so they say."

Anakin folded his arms lightly across his chest, still the picture of unfazed calm. "I was a General in the Clone Wars, but that title was always inaccurate. I was full of fear then—just not of dying."

The mutters grew substantially louder. Heads nodded enthusiastically. There was even a smattering of applause. More cam lights flashed, preserving the moment. Live feed was already been fed to the city-wide holonet. The whole of Junga Roth now knew who the mystery man was, or would by nightfall. Lively debates would already be beginning over the fact and fiction of the one-time Clone War's hero.

The stage is set, she realised with a sinking feeling. Now that he'd established who Anakin was—or thought he had—Lyonides would move in for the reflected glory.

"How very interesting." Lyonides took a moment to consider Anakin carefully. "Yes, very, very interesting. We're honoured to have you of course. What other city can boast of having an ex-Jedi, a hero and a general to boot. We'll be the envy of many who hear about it."

Anakin merely inclined his head. "I'm pleased that you're pleased, Premier, but you haven't told me why I've been sought out and escorted here."

It was said reasonably, even respectfully, but it didn't mask the subtle challenge. Lyonides' eyes narrowed. His smile was less expansive as he moved to prowl the edges of the circling seats. "I can see I'm dealing with a direct man with no taste for the subtleties of politics. Very well, I admire that, as we all admired your handiwork of last night. It's all over the holonet news. Have you seen it? You're a hero all over again—with or without the fear." Lyonides stopped just to the left and behind Anakin. "That being the case, what else could we do but meet you, and offer you our thanks, as well as something a little more tangible."

Instead of turning to find Lyonides, Anakin found Padmé's eyes, making her stomach lurch sickly. Those bright blue eyes were unreadable, secretive. "And by tangible you mean…what exactly?"

This was it. Curling her fingers into her palms, Padmé jerked her gaze free. She desperately wanted to be somewhere, anywhere, else. Next to her, Saber shifted, sucking in a breath, echoing her thoughts and fears. "This is it. With a man like that in his personal employ, Lyonides will never be dislodged. We may as well give up."

Clasping her hands together to hide their clamminess, Padmé felt icy cold from the inside out. Gods! No, she couldn't give up. The fight would go on, it had to. But, if he did join Lyonides, how far would Anakin go to make sure she got nowhere?

Anakin finally turned to face Lyonides, his expression waiting, inviting.

Lyonides relaxed, reassured of success. "A man with your talents and history could make a huge difference to our poor, beleaguered city. I can offer you the means and opportunity to put all of your skills to work. Junga Roth can offer a great deal to people who are willing to give something back in return. Think of it as a symbiotic relationship where we all work together for the greater good."

Getting into his stride, Lyonides started to prowl again. "For a long time now, I've wanted to improve the security of this great city. I know Security Minister Natar is already looking forward to working with you. I've spoken with him personally on it. I too have a great deal of work for someone such as yourself."

The invitation was there, ready to be snatched up.

"I'm honoured, but his anticipation, and yours, is premature."

Such simple words, almost silkily spoken, but they fell like cluster bombs. Four-hundred assorted councillors and media persons reared back in shock: gasping, denying, no surely…

No one was more shocked than Lyonides himself. "I understand. You want to know more about what is on offer. Where to start? Influence and power, safety, security, comfort and productivity are all essential ingredients to a fulfilling life even after death. These are all on offer. The Narzgh are not our only enemies, you would hardly be bored. And, of course, we would find you accommodation in the core, perhaps the Transvision Tower where Councillor Amidala is quartered. You two have met, so I hear. I'm sure she can tell you how comfortable it is there."

"Once again, I thank you, but I've already found accommodation that suits me."

"In the core?" Lyonides snapped, reddening.

"No, in the outer rim."

This time the reaction was even more extreme. Anakin over-rode it with ease. "Don't misunderstand me, Premier. I'm more than interested in hearing these plans you have for improving the security of the city. In fact, I have many questions and opinions to put to you and your advisers. Would you care to hear them?"

Lyonides was almost beyond pretending civility. "Another day perhaps—"

Anakin's voice rose, commanding attention. "Just one then. Give me a thousand men, and I can stop the Narzgh from pillaging the outer third of your city and its population." Now it was he that paced, dominating the space and every eye. "Allow me to design some defences and I would need even fewer troops. Either way, I can defend the Outer Rim and save tens of thousands from being dragged down into darkness and chaos. Surely that is worth a few hours of you time, and attention?"

Anakin had the room spell-bound. Padmé felt bizarrely disembodied. One half of her wasn't surprised—the other half was dumbfounded. It was almost as if the last day of her living life had been wiped out and her husband—a good man—was standing there. Disorienting her further was a strong fear. Anakin, Anakin! What are you doing? He'll kill you for this. She had to shake her head to dispel the dizziness.

"Do you think it's that simple?" growled Lyonides, all pretence gone. He was vibrating with fury. The council became restive in the charged atmosphere, looking to each other with deep unease.

Natar rose to his feet, coughing to gain attention. "If I may interject?" he said to Lyonides.

The reply was grated out. "Please do."

From his lofty seat, Natar's smile was gracious, and condescending. "It's a lovely idea, but do you think we haven't considered such tactics many times in the past? I assure you that we've debated strenuously on this very topic." He spread his hands, the picture of woeful helplessness. "We simply don't have a thousand men to spare from the core. Not to mention that it would have to be on a voluntary basis and you wouldn't even get a tenth of that number."

"Why?" asked Anakin, bluntly.

"Why, what do you mean 'why'?"

"Why are your troops willing to defend the core, but not the Outer Rim?"

"Because of the rain barrier, of course…"

Padmé would swear that grim triumph flashed across Anakin's face. "In that case," he said, slowly and succinctly, "the answer is simple. The barrier must be extended to cover the whole city. Not to do so is tantamount to murder."

The silence was deafening. A feather dropping would have resounded. While the rain barrier was brought up frequently during closed council meetings, it was strictly banned from being mentioned to the media—never mind being put so plainly. Lyonides had set himself up by inviting them to attend and insisting on a live broadcast. Only, instead of gaining himself an ally that the public could love, admire and perhaps fear, he'd been ambushed. Everyone present realised it.

Simmering, Lyonides recovered enough to step-in, if not graciously. "Another wonderful dream," he dismissed. "Unfortunately, the barrier would collapse entirely if any attempt is made to extend it. The public know this. Only the terrorists refuse to accept that we are already running it at full capacity and can do no more."

"On the existing energy cells we're fully extended, yes." Padmé stood, too, voice ringing. "But more could be bought—must be brought. The technology is already in place. Let us not forget that the barrier did once cover the whole city."

Lyonides whirled on her, fury threading his voice until it was little more than a strangled whisper, it still carried though. "Ancient history, Councillor, as you well know, and energy cells are not easy to come by—also, as you well know. What would you have me do, make everyone defenceless in a useless and vain attempt to protect the misfits, terrorists and scum? Is that your idea of a solution?"

He didn't let her reply.

"Of course, I understand. You're delighted to have someone come along to support your idealistic campaign to have us all dragged down into hell. Fair's fair, isn't that right, Councillor?"

"That is hardly what I wish for—"

"Is anyone else glad that an election is due?" asked Lyonides of the crowd, playing them—and her—with thwarted viciousness in every line. "I have to wonder, my dear, if you've consulted with all of your constituents on these radical plans of yours."

Padmé stiffened her back and lifted her chin, pointing out, "An election that doesn't include yourself, of course."

"The people don't need to elect me. They already know that I have only their best interests at heart; I am their father, indulgent and protective. For the greater good is my byword, and through me, the same for Junga Roth." His snarl took in both Padmé and Anakin. "This is my city, Councillor. Never forget that. This session is over. You're all dismissed. Get out!"

o~o~o

"Did you prep him?" asked Saber, shakily, as they exited the council chambers. The mass exodus had been swift and silent.

"No, I didn't." And, she hadn't! She hadn't trusted him. "We talked, but not about that." Padmé sympathised with Saber's shock. She was still feeling it herself.

She'd never seen him like that. Anakin had always had presence. His power had always been palpable, but today had been different. He'd been so controlled and calculating. Even his voice and the way he'd spoken had changed. Every word had punch and was delivered in a voice precise enough to draw blood. Pilas Lyonides had been outwitted, outsmarted and dwarfed today. Anakin had both impressed and scared her. She couldn't help but wonder if this 'assurance', for want of a stronger word, was the result of his experiences as Vader?

"There will be repercussions," warned Saber, darkly.

"Yes, of that I have no doubt."

"Lyonides banked too heavily on any sane person wanting to get away from the Outer Rim. He assumed that the few weeks already spent there would convince this Skywalker of this, and he'd leap at the chance of getting out. Most people would have done. I suppose it's hardly surprising that our beloved Premier would make such an assumption—nobility of spirit is hardly a forte of his."

Padmé could only make a non-committal noise. She didn't have a clue what Anakin's motivations were. A wrong guess could be catastrophic, she told herself, no matter what the little voice in her heart was starting to whisper about earnest attempts at redemption. Wishful thinking was an indulgence she couldn't afford.

Clasping shaking hands in front of his robes, Saber changed the subject, asking her, "Are you worried about the elections?"

"Aren't you?"

Saber's Adam's apple bobbed, all the answer she needed.

"If we don't re-win our seats then all public opposition to Lyonides' rule will cease," she pointed out, "A fact of which he is well aware."

"Maybe we should align ourselves with this Skywalker. He seems to have the same objective, and the benefit of a positive public profile."

Padmé wanted to dismiss the idea as swiftly and determinedly as she had Oboné's notion of 'cosying', but the problem was, the idea had merit.

o~o~o

Pilas Lyonides controlled everything he surveyed. He ruled Junga Roth. The council was only in existence because he let it exist. Tonight, simmering still, he watched as hundreds of passenger skiffs sailed between the towers of the core. The hoi polloi running their errands, hurrying to meet lovers, returning home after shift, watching the debacle that shouldn't have happened earlier. Everything in him tightened with fury. A red mist descended to haze his mind. The window was extensive, covering almost one complete wall. Behind him were priceless works of art. His apartments were sumptuous and spacious as befitted the Premier.

None of it soothed him.

"I want him dead," he announced in a harsh voice.

"And who would you use to accomplish such a feat?"

The enquirer had a voice that raised every hair on Lyonides' arms. "There are plenty of bounty hunters in Roth. I'd have my pick."

"And they would be killed," the voice dismissed. "I told you, he will have powers that a mere bounty hunter cannot possibly hope to overcome. Just by trying you would incite a public outcry, and Skywalker to retaliate. You're no good to me dead."

Lyonides stayed where he was. He could barely stomach to look at his visitor. "I could expose him as Darth Vader. Even I've heard that name. There must be a good number here who would hold him responsible for their death. I know the Falleens of Xarac would be interested. Didn't he kill millions on their home world?"

"A failed biological experiment required sterilising." The explanation was followed by a chuckle, a dry rasping sound. "Vader was ruthless, a useful attribute in those days. However, there will be time for such revelations later. Let Skywalker rise up on a swell of hysterical public popularity. It will make his eventual fall all the harder—and sweeter."

"And Amidala?"

There was a rustle and a creak as the creature that had once been an emperor sat at Lyonides desk. "Ah, yes. Sweet Padmé. It is an unexpected bonus to find her here. I will have to think about what to do with her. Such things should never be rushed."

"I don't see what the point is in waiting." Lyonides braced himself to turn and relaxed at finding the hideous, blackened visage hidden in the depths of a cloak. "Why let him...them, solidify their position?"

"Patience had its own rewards, Premier. Find some. It was your own pride that led you to make such a disaster of things today. You weren't subtle. You challenged when you should have appealed. It is a great pity that you couldn't draw him in. But, no matter, we can turn this to our advantage."

Lyonides watched, revolted, as long, skeletal fingers picked delicately at a dish of entrails still swimming in blood. "And you're sure that he can't sense you as you sense him?"

"I fooled hundreds of Jedi over decades, including my foolish, treacherous apprentice. Don't be concerned. Hiding what and where I am is a particular skill of mine. I admit my powers are weaker—whilst his are stronger—but he is not expecting me to be here." The sigh came out as a wheeze. "It is also, regrettably, true that I'm having to expend most of my energy to prevent myself from slipping back into the pit, but I will grow stronger again: which is why we need time."

"Something tells me that you haven't confided all of your plans to me."

"You know enough. I owned Anakin Skywalker's soul in life and I want it in death too." The malevolence in that statement sent an icy skitter down Lyonides' spine. "Only together will we both prevail."

Finally making his selection, slender, dribbling flesh was dangled over the tipped back hood of Palpatine, revealing the rotten chin and jaw. Lyonides stomach turned again and he turned back to the window, asking, "You're sure you can break this man Skywalker?"

"Consider that another particular skill of mine, and a reward for offering your allegiance to me."


	7. Chapter 7

NOTES:

(1)Huge thanks to NikeJ for the beta on this chapter.  
(2)A LOT of the Vader information I've used in this chapter is taken from

Wookieepedia. All required credit to that wonderful site.  
(3)Once again, thanks to everyone for all of the wonderful comments. Author replies will have been sent to signed reviews. Anon is below.

PPP - WOW, my favorite type of story - Anakin struggling with redemption. And the background is a combo of my fave movie and my fave tv show- It cannot get any better!

Thank you, PPP! I'm so glad that you're enjoying it! I'm having a great time writing it too *g*

Cymru na Alethaira - You know, you have this way of making the reader *hate* Lyonides and Sidious. Like...oh, you wanna feed them to Ani :P One thing I forgot to ask- so um, Sidious is one of those demon thingies now?

Hey hun, I know exactly what you mean *g* More on Sidious very soon, promise. Thanks for the comment. XX

**Chapter Seven****  
**  
He breathed deep, then let the air out slow, slower, and slower yet.

Anakin was meditating, or trying to. He could hear the rhythmic thump and wail of the music from the club four floors below. It seemed to float in through the tattered shutters he'd left open. The faint noises didn't intrude. How could they with the cacophony inside his mind holding all of his attention? Sitting cross-legged with his hands laid gently on his knees, he strained for that place that would allow him to set his thoughts free, quieting them. But there were so many. They were entwined, snarled in one another, interconnecting until they were little more than a knotty tangle of confusion.

It had begun weeks ago when he'd confronted Lyonides. He'd hid it well, he hoped, but it had been jarring to have his Jedi past thrown in his face. It was everywhere—The Hero With No Fear—they didn't have a clue—had no idea just how wrong…

He took another juddering breath.

… He was no hero and he knew plenty about fear. For one thing, he'd specialised in causing it.

The acclaim and adulation was unbearable. There were times when he wanted to scream at them, shatter their horrendous illusions with the truth. Weeks had passed and instead of getting better, it was getting worse. He kept to himself, but still the rumours filtered through, along with the pressure of hope. Every whisper seemed to crack open the mental door, revealing the darkness within that little bit more. Details of his Clone Wars missions were being dredged up as if they'd happened yesterday. What they didn't realise was that while they worshipped what had gone before, he was mired ever deeper in what came after. It was as if a dam had been inexplicably opened, breaching his defences. Every night now, Anakin dreamed, reliving atrocities that threatened to drive him mad, scorching his soul black. He awoke at dawn to the cries of murdered younglings, after which, he would put on a mask, patching over the ravages. At times, he selfishly longed for the crystal clarity of a mind unfettered by remorse.

_Breathe. Slow, slower._ His chest rose and fell. Beads of sweat lined his brow. A breeze feathered over the naked skin of his torso, roughing it with goose-bumps.

A harsh voice tore across the wallowing self-pity. It was his own. _Stop thinking about yourself and think about others and their fears. Isn't that why you're here?_

That should be easy enough. There was plenty of fear in Roth. And, no matter what he did, he was making precious little difference.

_You don't grow in the second world. Not hair, not fingernails, nothing. Ergo you don't age. If you die, and come through as a stunted teen who was due a growth spurt, it never comes. Tough luck. The only things that grow here are plants, fear and the suicide rate._

This was the second world according to Sal Trent. The short and pithy summation was accurate. In Roth, fear was constant, like an airborne pollution that crept in, under, and around everything. Anakin felt it too, frantic wings beating inside his chest. His fears weren't caused by the Narzgh though, but himself.

Against his will, Anakin's thoughts circled back around.

Shamefully, a part of him understood Lyonides' frank acceptance that some of his people would fall prey to the Narzgh. The belief that only the strongest deserve to survive lies at the core of Sith concepts. Anakin's own past was proof of that callousness. There had been no mercy or compassion in him then.

True, a different voice argued, but, even as immersed in the dark side as he'd been, he'd doubted—lamenting and mourning what he'd become in rare, weak moments. Vader had made sure those moments were private and well away from the Emperor, but he'd had them.

_Sith power does not reside in the body, but in the will. When you fully accept who and what you are, Lord Vader, you will reawaken the incredible powers within you._

The intrusion of Palpatine's voice made him tense. Anakin didn't shove the memory away, but confronted it, forcibly relaxing his muscles one by one. Of one thing, he was now not in the least sorry—Vader had never been able to _fully_ accept. That peace had always eluded him, limiting his Sith powers and causing his master to test him again and again.

Out of the many 'tests' only one came to him now: Kalakar VI and the clone of Maul. The duel had been vicious and Vader almost met his end. Their last exchange had led to the desperate strike that had won Vader victory.

_What can you possibly hate enough to destroy me?_

_Myself!_

Vader had never let himself analyse the truth in that last, grim statement. Not that regrets, or doubts, had stopped him from pursuing success with a single-minded ferocity that made the value of life meaningless for hundreds of worlds.

Eyes still closed, Anakin frowned. The harsh voice returned, this time desperate rather than judgemental, "It doesn't matter. That's not who I am anymore."

That same part of him that could understand Lyonides, replied, _maybe you need to be, if you want to halt the endless tide of Narzgh._

Blue eyes flew wide open.

o~o~o

"The holovid is full of news about the upcoming elections, madam. Oh, and that human again. Anakin Skywalker is it? He seems to be a hot-topic these days."

Stepping out of the shower tube, Padmé accepted the towel offered by the cream-plated server droid. "Thank you, Dee, and no, I haven't watched the news today."

"Oh, well, you've been busy haven't you?" Built along the lines of the old WR7's, the droid was programmed to mimic a sociable female and scooted around on a gryo-balanced unipod. "You should rest more," it scolded. "You're always on the move and you do have organic legs, you know. You'll wear them out and then where will you be?"

Padmé only smiled and padded over to the vanity table. Seating herself on the stool and catching the droid's reflection in the mirror, she told it, "You can go ahead and shut-down for the night, Dee. I won't be needing you again."

"Okay, I will, but only if you do too. You're looking tired these days." With those final sing-song warning words, Dee sailed through the sliding doors, leaving Padmé to her thoughts.

She _was_ looking tired. Dispassionately, she scrutinised herself in the mirror. There were dark circles under her eyes and her skin looked pale and drawn. Luckily, rich brown eyes, pale smooth cheeks and full lips made up for a lot. Her looks had always been a happy accident, and one that she'd hardly ever considered, until she'd fallen in love with Anakin. Then she'd begun to appreciate his obvious captivation with her face, hair, skin, fingers, the backs of her knees, the curve of her hips. Everything about her had fascinated him. She'd returned the compliment equally.

Each parting and reunion had only seemed to make him more compelling. The bitter fury of fighting a war had appeared to hone him down, not so much dimming his youth, as darkening it.

Had that same darkness been a part of what eventually consumed him?

"Stop it! Don't go there." Picking up the wide bristle brush, she started to sweep it through long thick, brown hair. She stared stonily into the mirror. "Freyrr will be back soon and you have a full day tomorrow too. Think about that instead. Be productive for stars sake!"

She needed to figure out what to say to him, for a start. It could all go disastrously wrong. Gods! It had been weeks since she'd last seen him and Anakin had hardly been out of her thoughts. Every time he fought the Narzgh, she felt as if she were dying until it was over and she knew he'd survived again. The brush stopped and she didn't notice. She knew she shouldn't be thinking of him like that, but she just couldn't help it. It was driving her crazy. Every thought led back to him.

"Is that so surprising? He's everywhere. People talk of nothing else." Throwing down the brush, Padmé rose and stalked over to the bed. Snatching up the nightgown already laid out, she pulled it over her head and yanked the silky, sky-blue material down, oblivious of the delicate silk.

In fact, she was so preoccupied that she almost missed the subdued hiss of the door opening. "Dee, I told you I won't—" The rest was swallowed on a gasp.

Unless she locked it, the doors opened automatically when sensing an approaching presence. The Terraviper swaying in the doorway was acid yellow with blood-red dorsal splotches. It was also thicker than her waist and at least two meters in length; certainly big enough for the sensors to have picked it up.

Padmé was frozen, staring at it while the enormous snake stared back. A forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air and feeding off her sudden fear. In that second, everything she'd ever heard about the Terra skittered over her mind: vicious, venomous, moves like lightening, will strike at anything. The last thought had barely formed when it hissed, revealing twin rows of curved fangs. Rearing back, the snake shot towards her.

It moved so fast it was little more than a blur.

Yelping, Padmé grabbed up the bed-sheet and flung it over the huge snake, pelting for the door as she did so. The slap of a heavy, scaled body on the floor behind her warned that the snake had freed itself from the linen. Bursting through the archway into the reception area, she vaulted over one couch, staggering on landing because of the length of her nightgown. Almost at the same moment, the snake slammed into the couch, just missing her ankle. It hissed furiously. Terrified, Padmé risked a glance back and saw the thing was now perched on the stiff top cushion, coiling itself for another spring.

Lifting her skirts, Padmé raced, heart pounding, back the way she'd come. This time though, she was going at a diagonal angle, heading for the snug. Options raced through her mind along with adrenaline. The turbolift would never get up to her in time, so escape was out. She needed a weapon, she realised, or she was dead.

The armoire, made of heavy, dark mangan wood, stood as tall as her and decorated with polished bronziam discs for latches. Inside was a small arsenal of blasters and melee weapons: Freyrr's personal collection. It was kept in the snug, a cosy non-formal living space that guests were rarely invited into.

Terror beat at her heels. _I'll never make it. I'll never make it—you will, keep running!_

Instinct saved her. The snake struck, but Padmé lunged to the side of the corridor. Unfortunately, she lost her balance and tumbled to her knees. Her head jerked up, locking eyes again with the snake. It was too close. Her blood turned to ice. She was dead. The snake hissed, opening fanged jaws and lashing out with its tail. She didn't even have time to move. The spiked tip of the Terra's tail whipped along Padmé's face and thudded into the painted plasticrete wall behind her left ear. Fiery pain slashed her cheekbone. The pain unlocked her muscles and sheer panic gave her a burst of speed. The massive, fanged head lunged for her, but she scrabbled on her hands out of the way just in time. The snake struck again and again, just missing her. Padmé lashed out with one foot, slamming into the scales of its upper body. The blow did nothing. Her back hit something hard and unyielding. Something toppled, aiming for her head. She caught it and swung it at the striking snake.

The vase was heavy and ancient. It didn't survive colliding with the snake's head, but at least it did knock the reptile aside. Taking advantage of the moments reprieve, Padmé scrabbled back further, past the obstruction, and lashed out again—with both feet—this time kicking the pedestal that had showcased the vase. The marble-like foamplas was heavy, but terror gave her strength. A second full-body kick sent the veined column crashing down onto the snake, pinning it.

At the same time, the turbolift opened and Freyrr stepped out. The antechamber had a view that crossed the main reception area and down the corridor. The Wookiee gave a rumbling roar and charged, drawing her machete as she did so. A single high-swung stroke was all it took to still the thrashing snake—at last.

Panting, wide-eyed and shaking in the aftermath of near-death adrenaline overload, Padmé let herself slump to the floor. It was over. She was alive. She was shaking so hard that she didn't want to even attempt to stand. Bruises she hadn't been aware of earning started to ache.

Blood trickled down her cheek and she swiped at it. If the Viper's tail had been millimetres up and to the left, it would have stabbed into her eye. It was now obvious that someone wanted her dead. The knowledge caused new ice to form in her veins. _They almost won. I almost died. If I'd stayed frozen for just one second longer. No! Don't think about it. It's over._

Stepping over the body of the snake, Freyyr came over and ran huge, furred hands over her head and shoulders—soothing and assessing—making sounds of concerned enquiry as she did. The Wookiee's touch was incredibly reassuring, pushing away the chill.

Snagging one of those hands, Padmé gave a thankful squeeze. "Thank you, Freyrr. I'm fine, really."

Sitting on her haunches with her long, golden brown fur gleaming in the light, Freyrr tilted her head and made more sympathetic noises, then added a few grunting growls.

"Yes, I'm getting a feeling of déjà vu too."

Helped to her feet by one who was family, confidante, friend and protector, Padmé forced her mind past the post-terror haze and onto something other than the snake. _Anakin_. She needed to see him. "Did you arrange for the final confirmation to go to the pilot?"

o~o~o

In the weeks since their near-disastrous trip to Lona Noxivio, Sal Trent had made some major modifications to his ship. The shields had been beefed up and additional duralloy plating had been attached to a good portion of the hull to protect it against laser-fire. Most importantly, twin pairs of laser cannons had been retro-fitted to the Limidian, port and starboard. Being a pilot with only limited technical ability, he'd had to draft in help for the actual fitting. Namely, Anakin.

He'd also drafted in Anakin's assistance for that day's mystery charter. With Sal having already filed their flight plans with central control, they were in the middle of their pre-flight checks. From the cop-pilot's seat, Anakin glanced over, frowning. "I can't believe you accepted a charter without knowing who the passenger is—or what business they plan on carrying out."

"Leane-Terre is only a short hop and they're paying triple my usual rate." Sal shrugged. "Sometimes it pays not to be too picky, or ask too many questions." He grinned, creasing his pitted face. "Why, you nervous?"

"I didn't say I was nervous."

"'Cause, y'know, according to your press, you don't have nerves. If that's not true, then I'll have to 'fess up on your behalf."

"I didn't say I was nervous," Anakin shot back. It was more of a snarl. Modifying his tone, he tried to cover his lack of control. "You're the one who asked me to come along, remember? In my book, that makes you the nervous one."

"You musta bought the wrong book, kid, that just makes me cautious. Besides, I seem to recall that you're handy to have around." Instead of getting back to checking the vertical thrusters, Sal lounged back in his seat, eyeing him. "It really bothers you doesn't it?"

All of a sudden the console in front of Anakin seemed fascinating; he stared at it rather than look over at Sal. "A lot of things bother me. You'll have to be more specific."

"The amount of attention you're getting. I've never seen anyone recoil from the spot-light so darned fast and hard. You look rough as hell too."

There was a pause. "You seem like a decent enough person," said Anakin, finally, coldly, looking over. "Yet, I've never asked you how you came to end up here instead of the first world."

Sal's gaze turned shuttered. "I don't play the 'how-you-died-and-ended-up-here' game. That's my business."

"Exactly. But, I bet you've wondered what a one-time Jedi with that kind of history is doing here?"

"I might have wondered a time or two," conceded, Sal. Tipping his seat back even further, he waved a hand. "So, what you're saying is that you don't think you deserve the hero-worship and that's why it grates?"

"I _don't_ deserve it," said Anakin, significantly, "and it grates a lot." _More than anyone can possibly imagine._ Frustration and hopelessness bubbled. The inertial dampeners took the brunt of his spurt of anger as he flipped them on manually. "It's not even as if I'm achieving anything. The Narzgh still come, people are still snatched."

"You're trying. No-one else has the guts. That kinda crap makes people sit up and take notice."

The stiff conversation was interrupted by a message from Control advising them that their passenger had arrived and was waiting to board. There was no mention of a name, yet. Sal glanced at Anakin and wriggled his brows. "Do you wanna go play greet'n'nice and I'll finish the pre-flight?"

As easily as that, they were back on level ground.

Anakin blinked and then relaxed enough to smile, appreciating the gruff unpredictability of the man. "You need the charm practice, and he or she is your client. You go. I'll finish here."

His smile turned fully-formed at the other pilot's grumbling as Sal got out of his seat and stomped across the cockpit, heading for the hatch that would lead him to the boarding ramp via the engineering section.

The last of the checks took only a few minutes. Thinking that Sal would install their passenger in the main hold with its built-in entertainment suite, Anakin got up to take a closer look, and feel, for what they were dealing with. He'd only taken two steps when he went utterly still, staring at the hatchway. Awareness clutched at his heart. The Force surrounding him seemed to ripple, a reaction to his sudden surge of emotion. All he could think was that it couldn't be her. He didn't want it to be. He wasn't in any state to see her. The hatch released with a hiss and framed inside the circular opening was an uncomfortable looking Sal and a cloaked figure. He didn't need to see her face.

Padmé.

Casting an oddly apologetic glance at Anakin, Sal walked passed him to retake his seat, saying, "I seem to recall that you two have met, so I won't waste time on introductions. Let's get this show on the road and this bucket in the air, huh?"

Anakin didn't move. He was waiting for Padmé to remove the cloak's hood, which she did. The first thing he noticed was the painful cut marring her left cheek, then her pallor. Both were highlighted by dark hair severely styled into coiled buns at either side of her head. He could feel her palpable discomfort at being in his presence too. That he caused such a conflict in her still stung, but he found he was getting used to it. Despite the tension, she met his gaze unflinchingly. "Your friend is right. This ship is no place for a discussion." Brown eyes asked for understanding and acceptance. "The sooner we get to Leane-Terre the sooner I can explain."

His first impulse was to refuse her request to wait. He didn't have her control and never had—the maelstrom of emotions she effortlessly caused in him were not so easily dismissed. A part of him didn't care that she obviously believed that someone could be listening in. The muscles in his jaw bunched as he clenched his teeth. The last time he'd seen her it had been an accidental meeting—this wasn't. He'd been avoiding her every bit as much as she'd probably been avoiding him. He couldn't bear for her to see how far he'd tumbled in a few short weeks. Yet, now he had no choice. He wanted to know why she'd arranged this charter, why she appeared to have sought him out, and how she'd got hurt—now.

Wrestling with, and finally mastering the turbulent impatience, he inclined his head instead. "Alright. Take a seat, milady."

o~o~o

"We're off the ship," pointed out Sal tersely, as the three of them descended the ramp onto one of the many subterranean landing platforms. Leane-Terre was a much smaller settlement than Roth and built entirely underground. "How about that explanation?"

With her hands folded in front of her as they walked, Padmé was the picture of composure. Underneath the cloak, she wore another practical bodysuit, this time in navy. "I needed to speak to Anakin without Lyonides being able to record what we say."

"And you couldn't just walk up to him and say, 'hey, let's talk'?"

"I'm truly sorry for the subterfuge," she said carefully, "but, there is a good reason for it. I'm watched constantly and so is Anakin. This was the only conceivable way I could think of for arranging a meeting with a limited risk of being overheard."

Stepping onto a segmented glide that would take them over a steep drop in the rock, Anakin slid her a sharp glance. The flight had been long enough for the surprise to wear off and questions to rise to the fore. "You arranged the charter through a third party—with Sal as pilot. How did you know that I'd come along?"

"I researched you, Mr Trent," admitted Padmé, addressing Sal rather than Anakin. "You come across as an intelligent man. I assumed that you would find the circumstances suspicious and ask for backup."

The glide came to an end and they stepped off. Sal's brows rose and he said sardonically, "Nice to be so predictable."

Meanwhile, anger mushroomed in Anakin, straining and then breaking his slippery control. He'd just spent two hours inhaling her scent, driving himself crazy with memories. He wasn't even aware of the intention to grasp her elbow and bring them both to an abrupt stop, before he'd already done it. "If you wanted to talk to me, then talk to me, not Sal. Unless you've changed your mind?"

Rich brown eyes went wide at his hard tone. "I haven't changed my mind. I do want to talk to you."

It was an effort to unlock his fingers. Aware of Sal watching, Anakin sucked in a breath, forcing his voice to smooth out. "Fine, then we'll find somewhere to talk. Did you have anywhere particular in mind?"

"The north of Leane-Terre is a warren of cantinas. We'll have our pick."

Anakin glanced over at Sal to see what he thought and found him backing away. "Okay, well, I'll just go and find something to do for the next whatever…you let me know when you're done."

"That's not necessary, Mr Trent," interjected Padmé, quickly. "You're quite welcome to join us."

Anakin saw the sense in a buffer and nodded. "Yes, stay."

Canting his head, Sal considered them. After a few seconds, he made a decision. "Alright, I'll stick on one condition: I get the first drinks in, giving you two time to clear the air. I've spent the last few hours feeling like some dumb shmuck who'd wandered between two electrical disrupters. Enough already."

o~o~o

They chose a large booth with a circular table with moulded circular bench seats. As promised, Sal went directly to the curved bar of the cantina to order from the near human bartender. Being miles underground, all light came from artificial means. On the opposite side of the table, Padmé cleared her throat, playing with one of the woven mats placed strategically around the resin-coated table-top. "You seem … tenser than the last time I saw you?"

He didn't need force-sensitive perception to recognise her careful understatement. Sal was right, he was looking rough. The mask was slipping.

_I miss you. I'm afraid. I can't forget. I feel like I'm slipping back into the abyss and don't have anything to grab onto and hold on. I hate what they're making me out to be, and it's making me angry._ Staring blankly at her, Anakin said none of it.

"I'm not sleeping very well. What happened to your face?"

Padmé frowned. "Are you having nightmares?"

The flash of fear she couldn't hide aggravated him. "I'm seeing my life through my own eyes and not Vader's. I would have thought you'd see that as a natural consequence of being a monster."

"I—"

He cut across her, ashamed of his bitterness, "It doesn't matter. What happened to your face, Padmé?"

Padmé dropped her eyes from his, tracing the raw, deep cut as if only just realising it was there. "An unfortunate confrontation with a Terraviper last night."

Disbelief made Anakin go stiff. "You went out into the forest?"

"No, it paid me a visit in my apartment. As you can imagine, I wasn't expecting guests."

He didn't even try and return her wry smile. "How did a native predator manage to get inside the city, reach the core undetected _and_ scale a hundred-forty storey building to reach you?"

"That's the mystery."

She was prevaricating, he _knew_ it. "Are we talking about an assassination attempt?"

"I want to get off this topic, Anakin." Stark memories played emotions across her expressive face. Tellingly, the mat started to fray in her hands.

In any other circumstance, he would have backed off. "As soon as you answer my question."

For a moment she looked set to refuse. Full lips pursed. "Possibly, but it's not relevant."

"Someone is trying to kill you and you don't think it's _relevant_?" Anakin reared back on the bench, propelled by sheer disbelief. Everything else was forgotten. "Have they tried before now?"

"A few times, which is why I have Freyrr." With a wave, she dismissed the attempts on her life. "I'm perfectly well protected, Anakin, and you did say we could move on when I answered you—I have."

Across the table they regarded each other, neither willing to give way. She had that stubborn look on her face that he recognised all too well. The topic was closed.

Frustrated, Anakin didn't point out that Freyrr wasn't with her now, or go everywhere she did. Not like he had when she'd been under threat all those years ago. He hadn't let her out of his sight, no matter how hard she'd tried to shake him off. Arguments had peppered that time on Naboo, wracking up the tension even during their playful moments. She was too independent by half, he thought. He wanted to reach over the table and shake her.

Sal picked that moment to return with a small tray bearing three smoking cups. Lowering the tray to the middle of the table, the other pilot sat down and gestured for them to help themselves. Anakin picked up the nearest cup blindly while Sal muttered sotto-voice, "So much for clearing the air, huh?"

They all sipped. The brew had a vague salty taste to match the air in the catacombs. The silence stretched. The cantina was all but empty, meaning there was no hum of conversation to fill in the lull. "So, what's all this about, councillor?" asked Sal, stretching an arm negligently across the free space of the bench.

This time Padmé was careful to keep her gaze on Anakin. "I've been trying to get you some funding for those defence systems you mentioned. I have a few contacts in the engineering sector—not the big ones, they're in Lyonides pockets—but a few smaller outfits. Luckily this isn't the living world and it's not just about money. It can't be. Redemption is a strong hook—" she pulled a face "—not to mention that good deeds help them live in their safe towers with less guilt. The problem is that they don't know what it is you have in mind."

Whatever he'd been expecting it wasn't this.

Padmé wanting to talk about weapons to fight what was essentially a war was such a bizarre idea that Anakin drew a blank for a moment. He recovered when she called his name again, prompting a response. "Nothing too advanced. Modified speeders and bikes with plasma beams that can be used to skim over raiders could be useful. Aerial bombardment is out—".

"Fighters would make a hellova mess of the surrounding buildings," chipped in Sal. "But we could use their shield technology for the speeders."

"Okay, what else?"

Anakin cleared his throat, trying to concentrate. "Fortified mid-range repeating blaster cannons with built-in repelling shields would make a considerably bigger dent than normal pistols, or even rifles. I have a number of design ideas on both, as well as some auto-aiming functions to make the cannons independent of an operator. I was also thinking that we could try UV. The Narzgh only come out at night. Perhaps sunlight is a problem for them."

"UV?" queried Padmé. "You mean ultra-violet light?"

"Lamps to start off with, but I was also thinking about some kind of easily deployable bomb. Remember the Gungan's boomas?"

Padmé's smile stretched wide, dazzling him. "How could I forget? They saved my home planet."

"Look, I know we've talked about this, kid," interrupted Sal with a frown. "But, I'm sure I heard about UV being used before. It crashed and burned—didn't do anything to the slimy sons'a'banthas. Personally, I don't think we should rely too heavily on UV."

Anakin didn't get a chance to reply.

"Yes, but consider the probable source of that information, Mr Trent," said Padmé, leaning forward, engrossed.

"Just call me Sal, and what do you mean? What source?" The older man shrugged. "I just heard it is all."

"Seventy years ago Roth was protected by a complete rain barrier and run by a democracy of elders. Then suddenly out of nowhere comes a cataclysmic event. The Narzgh get in and wipe out over ninety five percent of the population. Not only that, they severely damaged the rain barrier and destroyed all databanks. Everything was lost—and I mean everything." Padmé ticked off on her fingers. "Medical records, financial and criminal records, historical data, scientific research, basically the accumulated knowledge of thousands upon thousands of years."

"Yeah, so?"

"Pilas and Petris Lyonides were two of the few survivors. Their rise to power was based on that cataclysm. They also controlled how the event was recorded and took all credit for keeping the city intact and partially restoring the rain barrier. Everything we know about the Narzgh comes from them, or is rigidly controlled by the regime they started. Petris Lyonides was the first to dub himself Junga Roth's 'Father'."

Sal snorted. "The fact that both Lyonides' were as corrupt and self-seeking as a Muun is hardly breaking news, councillor."

"No," said Anakin, "but it does mean that it's probably worth our while to capture a Narzgh alive and see how it copes with dawn."

o~o~o

Back in Junga Roth, Anakin fell into step beside Padmé as she headed for one of the turbolifts ringing the central terminal. A nearby vendor was doing a brisk business in food wraps. The smell of reconstituted meat was almost overpowering. "I'll see you to your apartment," he told her and his tone brooked no argument.

They made it inside the crammed lift just before the doors slid shut. Being barely evening, it was full. "Thank you, but it's not necessary. I can look after myself, and Freyrr will be waiting close by."

He refused to be brushed off. "In that case, I'll escort you to your friend and then leave."

Flicking him a glance, Padme lowered her voice, visibly conscious of the crush of people behind them. "That's not a good idea."

"Explain to me why not?" They stood so close her shoulder was pressing into his chest. His heart-rate picked up even at that meagre contact.

"Look, Anakin, being seen in public with me will not do you, or your cause, any good—quite the opposite. This is not about you and me, but the fact that …" trailing off, she sighed, then admitted, low, "I have a lot of enemies, and you have enough to deal with as it is."

She was trying to protect him. That knowledge gave him a rush of warmth so strong he had to clench his fists to contain it. The hovering cloud of darkness thinned. _Your enemies are my enemies_. The thought popped out of nowhere, resounding with truth. Anakin knew that he wouldn't rest until he found out who was trying to kill her, as well as any other who might wish her harm. The lift stopped, the doors opened and they exited before he'd composed himself enough to say, "You said 'your cause'. Does that mean that you believe me about why I'm here?"

The atrium was every bit as busy. They had to slow to a crawl to navigate their way through the other commuters. She took so long in answering that he began to think she wouldn't. "I've seen you go out there every time there's a raid. You put yourself in incredible danger and push yourself further than anyone I've ever seen. Nobody could do that and not genuinely want to help." Finally, she looked up at him and their eyes locked. "Yes, I believe you."

Oblivious to where they were, the moment trembled with something delicate and ethereal. The sensation caressed his skin, twining around him to lift the fine hairs all along his body. A sunburst of joyful heat lit in his belly. It was so simple and yet it meant more than he could possibly express. _She believed him_. For the first time in weeks hope suffused him. He embraced it tentatively.

Oddly, the back of his throat ached. "Thank you."

They'd come to an unknowing standstill. The crowds parted for them, flowing on all sides. Padmé gave an equally simple response, "You're welcome."

The stilted formality in no way hid the emotions that burgeoned, shimmering unspoken between them.

Softly, he continued, "I'm still going to see you to safety though." When Padmé opened her mouth to argue again, Anakin held up a hand to silence her, saying, "I won't leave you unprotected. Let me worry about what hurts my cause."

The moment dispersed. She must have seen the resolve in his face. "Fine, but I think you're wasting your time, and risking much for the privilege." So saying, she quickly got moving again, picking up the pace.

Anakin kept up with her easily. His footsteps—everything—seemed lighter. "Where did you arrange to meet her?"

"Councillors and a few other civil servants have their own designated landing-platforms reserved at major transport hubs. It's a privilege of my position that I would have refused long ago, but I do so much travelling that it ends up being a necessity. She should be waiting for me there—it's just along that glide."

Free of the main crowd, they made good time. The landing bays were attached to the main terminal via a dedicated skyglide. The glide was accessible only by a sealed set of doors. To open them, you were required to undergo a handprint scan, and insert a valid identirod. Palm-sized, slender and cylindrical, Padmé pushed her identirod into the slot and waited. A few seconds later, the doors slid silently apart and the rod popped back out.

She must have noticed his interest, explaining as they walked into the sunny tunnel and stepped onto the smooth iron-grey glide that would take them to their destination, "Not so long ago a handprint alone was enough, but Lyonides keeps putting up more and more barriers to freedom, blaming it on terrorists. He's become even worse in the last few weeks as you probably noticed. It galls me that most of the inner core just shrug and accept it."

Anakin tried not to draw too many comparisons to the birth of the empire, and the tyranny that accompanied it. "I had noticed. I've also seen the terrorists' handiwork—five wounded from the bridge collapse alone, wasn't it?"

"Terrorism and riots are a problem, but Lyonides is just using them as an excuse to impose more restrictions, gaining even more control. In fact, the attacks are escalating at exactly the same pace as the increased security measures. Yet, he doesn't see it and tackles the wrong issues—deliberately, I sometimes think." Padmé's voice took on a defensive edge. "People outside the core are unhappy as well as scared. It pushes them to do horrific things."

Fear again, he thought. "I can understand that. Fear is a terrible thing to live with—it makes you do the unimaginable."

He'd surprised her. He saw her make the connection with the past. Confusion softened her face. "Of course. I hadn't thought … I assumed you'd just condemn them."

_At one time, he would have_. Anakin gave her a lopsided smile. "I can't condemn anyone, remember?"

She gave him another tentative smile in return. He could see the questions lurking in her eyes, but instead of condemnation, he sensed … wonder. They were talking like normal people. She was sharing her thoughts. For the second time, quiet joy suffused him. The last weeks of torment-filled nights might never have happened. Feeling, breathless, Anakin looked away first, terrified of breaking this wonderful, intoxicating truce. Huskily, he said, "The city looks pretty up here."

Below and around them, Junga Roth's core was hazed in a red glow from the lowering sun. The silvery threads of thousands of glides, interspersed with brilliant lights from the busy skylanes, laced the cityscape in every direction.

"It does," Padmé agreed.

The end of the glide got nearer and nearer. Another set of doors separated them from the numerous, interconnected hanger platforms. Through them they walked. Built like a wheel with open-ended spokes, the hangers were completely empty save for them.

Anakin had a sudden bad feeling. "Which one holds your shuttle?" he asked abruptly.

"Omega 777-L." She gestured ahead of them. "It's just over there on the right."

He recognised the rear of the shuttle from the night that he'd first seen her. Reaching out with the Force, he scanned it, searching, probing. What he sensed had him whipping out a hand and latching onto Padmé's arm. Yanking her to him, he spun on his heel, wrapped his arms around her and lunged back the way they'd come, with her protected by his larger frame.

_WHOOSH---BOOM_

The explosion seemed to suck all of the air out of the entire structure. The force of it dragged at the fleeing pair. Then the tremendous, destructive power of the super-heated shockwave overcame them. Lifted up and sent flying by the horrific, raw energy of exploding gases, Anakin locked Padmé to him and used the Force to cushion them as they landed. He crashed onto his back and instantly rolled so that she was protected from the deadly rain of scorched, smoking debris. The very air was hot and choked with acrid smoke.

He didn't need to look behind him to know that Padmé's shuttle was obliterated. Alarms were blaring. Nearby a yellow light flashed. Under him, Padmé struggled, trying to throw him off. White-faced and wide-eyed, she was yelling hoarsely, but he could barely hear her over the ringing in his ears. He could feel sheer panic writhe like a wild-thing inside her. Her friend, he realised, she was worried about her friend. Not just worried, frantic.

To keep her from running towards the inferno, Anakin kept her tucked under him, cupping her uninjured cheek to make her focus on him. He had to shout to be heard over the roar of the fire and blare of the alarm, "Padmé, stop it. She wasn't in the shuttle."

Tears were already tracking down her cheeks. Going completely still, she stared at him—hoping, seeking, needing him to be speaking the truth. "I promise you, she wasn't there. Nobody was inside it. That was one of the things that made me suspicious."

Her breath hitched, fingers clutched at his shoulders. "You're sure?"

"I'm absolutely certain."

"Then where—?"

"I don't know, but I'll help you find out."

"She's my family, Anakin. I shouldn't have left her after last night. This is my fault. I—" words failed her and Padmé's face crumpled with misery and grief.

The sight of it tore his heart in two. He lifted them both to sit up and cradled her close, tucking her face into the crook of his neck and shoulder, rawly promising, "We will find her. I swear."

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Note (1): There is a tongue-in-cheek reference to Sophocles description of a tragic hero in this part. Credit, as always, to Wookieepedia.  
Note (2): There is also a quote taken from the TPM script. Credit to 'The Blue Harvest'.  
Note (3): Thanks to **YellowDart** and **NikeJ** for the beta. XX

Hmm, I think that's it…mental blank. Yup, that's it. Many, many, **many** thanks to those that have been leaving such wonderful reviews to let me know you're enjoying the story (Helen hands out virtual flowers). You really do make writing fanfic a joy, especially when you're toiling away between updates! As always responses will have gone off to signed reviews and anons are below:

**Mlhkvh5** – Thank you so much. Your reviews always are always so incredibly encouraging. I'm so glad that you like my style of writing and how I'm putting this story together. I've been told by my beta that I'm doing what is known in fanon as the 'slow burn' with A/P, but I plan on making it very much worth while for A/P shippers to hang in there. Oops, I'd better stop there. g

**Chapter Eight**

In the aftermath of the explosion, Anakin found out what had happened to the droids that he and Sal had shipped back to Roth. At least some of those containers had held super battle droids, or the second world equivalent. He knew this, because a pair of them accompanied the security team dispatched to investigate the assassination attempt on Padmé. It had been so long since he'd seen one of the metal monoliths, he couldn't tell if it was the standard model he'd fought during the Clone Wars, or if the Geonosians had modified them. Either way, having them present made the interminable interviews even tenser.

They were finally allowed to leave after a medtech pronounced them healthy and uninjured from the blast. A temporary airspeeder was procured for Padmé. She was still dazed enough to not quibble when Anakin insisted on piloting it to the Transvision Tower. During the short journey there was no conversation between them, but he hadn't expected any. After failing to raise Freyrr at the apartment via comlink, she spent the time contacting whoever she thought could help in locating the missing Wookiee. There was a jerky purposefulness to her every move that worried him.

None of those called had a clue where Freyrr might be, but they did find out some other news. In the short time they'd been out of the city, another terrorist incident had rocked the Core. In a lightening-quick response, Lyonides had passed a new 'emergency' law: effective immediately, non-humans were not allowed to enter the Core under any pretext. The few nonhumans that did live or work there had just lost both home and livelihood. Shocked, Padmé shut off the speeder's comlink and stared out of the viewscreen as Anakin set them down.

The stunned silence went on too long. "At least that explains the droid overkill back at the hanger," he said, trying to draw her out. "And the questions they asked about links to terrorists. Two bombs in one day—"

"I can't believe this," she murmured over him, more to herself than him. "I go missing for _one_ day and he passes a law that he must know I would have opposed with all of my might."

_Not to mention probably being responsible for the explosion of her shuttle._ Anakin parked that conviction to one side for now. He would deal with that in his own time.

"Can he do that?" Anakin finished shutting down the engine and shifted to face her. "Is there no way of appealing it?"

He knew very well how a dictatorship worked. His aim wasn't to gain information, but to keep her mind occupied and panic at bay. He could feel the turmoil going on inside her.

"You heard Oboné," replied Padmé, swivelling to face him too. "An attack was made on the rain barrier power generator. The dissidents have never got near it before, so it has twice the impact. It's the ultimate excuse. Panicked, the people will agree to anything to ensure the protection of the barrier, and, by extension, themselves." Scrubbing her forehead, she shook her head. "An emergency session of council was called and I wasn't present—that's my problem. It's too late now for me to voice an opinion." Her expression turned stark. "Not that I would have been able to stop him anyway. Lyonides is getting bolder and more aggressive. I've warned the others to lay low for a while and not draw his fire."

"I heard you. It's a wise move—the right one."

Once again, she didn't seem to hear him, too absorbed in her own thoughts. "He's paying me back for the botched audience with you. I knew there'd be repercussions; I just wasn't expecting his retaliation to be so devastating."

As a lead-in to his own suspicions, her statement was priceless, so he took it. "You think he was behind the shuttle explosion, don't you?"

"Don't you?" she shot back.

"Yes, I do. What I don't understand is why you and not me?" Anakin frowned, feeling the injustice. "I was there. I was the one who antagonised him."

"Lyonides attacks who he thinks is weaker, haven't you realised that by now?"

"In your case, that would be a big mistake." He quirked a brow. "I well remember how dirty you can fight."

That earned him a ghost of a smile, then he watched her shake off defeat before it could take hold. "Maybe it's me that's forgotten. It doesn't matter now, it's done. I need to concentrate on finding Freyrr. That's my first priority." Pale, but determined, Padmé hit the switch that would release the overhead canopy and unlock the drop-doors. Before getting out, she inclined her head in a courteous goodbye. "I'll send a message about what we discussed when I can. Take care of yourself, Anakin."

Anakin stood too, nimbly leaping out onto the landing platform. "I'm coming with you."

Having only taken a few steps, Padmé swung sharply back, her face set. "No! You have to get far away from me. I know you offered to help, and I'm grateful for that, but I mean it this time." She held up a hand to silence him when he went to interrupt. "Don't you understand, even without the bomb, Lyonides is stepping up the pace?" The hand dropped and tears glazed her eyes until she blinked them away. Frustration edged into her voice. "I just wish I'd anticipated this. I should never have sought you out. Instead of helping, I may have made it impossible for you to get the aid you need. I'm sorry!"

Anakin was shaking his head before she'd even finished. "Don't apologise. There's nothing to apologise for, and I'm not leaving you to face this alone, Padmé." His tone was flat and uncompromising.

"Anakin—"

"I mean it."

They ended up glaring at one another. Anakin finished the silent debate by walking past her and slapping a hand on the door release leading into the apartment complex. The doors slid apart with a subdued hiss. Deliberately, he said, "We'll check your apartment for messages and then contact all of the local detention centres. Maybe she was taken in for being where she was no longer lawfully allowed to be."

"Fine," she gritted out, stalking past him. "I was going to do that anyway; which just shows you how much I need your help."

ooo

Hours later, Padmé followed Anakin's tall form down a set of stairs. Worry was like a mauling beast clawing her insides and hazing her mind. _Where was Freyrr? Had she been hurt? Killed! An enraged Wookiee was fearsome beyond imagining, and for her friend to be absent so long …_ She stopped that thought in its tracks. She refused to give up, even in her head.

It was getting harder to stay positive, though.

They'd personally visited every detention centre. No Wookiees had been brought in, or so they were told. Anakin assured her that he had detected no lies. Next had been the medical centres—nothing. It was a nightmare. She'd become so desperate that she'd agreed to Anakin's long-shot and now they were entering a nightclub in the Outer Rim. Outside, night held full sway. Inside, the club was noisy and densely packed. Food odours fought with body odours. The lighting was comfortably dim and air quality moderately acceptable. On a semi-circular stage, an olive-skinned, reptilian Vodran was singing—if you could call it that—into a microphone. Following Anakin blindly, Padmé's gaze skittered from face to face, barely taking in the features of the varied sentients. However, she did notice that Anakin's presence caused the crowd to part for them without question. Wondering if he was using a Jedi mind trick, she kept close to him.

A sudden break in the press of bodies just ahead allowed a gold-complected Twi'lek waitress to catch her eye. Naturally sensual, the female was draped in layers of diaphanous strips of coloured, sequinned gauze that teased more than they hid. Padmé had the fleeting thought that there must be a body stocking under the filmy nothings—either that or the female was a true exhibitionist. Sliding nimbly between patrons with her tray held high, the Twi'lek passed in front of Anakin. The move looked deliberate, because she took the opportunity of sending him a sultry, come-get-me look. Then she noticed Padmé. As quick as a changeling, the waitress' demeanour changed to one of sharp-eyed, sulky assessment.

The encounter was mercifully brief and they soon passed out of sight again.

Without warning, Anakin's hand came out to snag and hold onto her own, keeping her close. His grip was warm, gentle, but strong. Padmé felt a tremor run up her arm. Her reaction unnerved her even further, driving the Twi'lek out like so much flotsam. Gods! _Why_ did she let him affect her so easily? It wasn't the first time she'd asked herself that question, and she was still no nearer to an answer. Telling herself that, no matter what he looked like, this man wasn't the Anakin she'd loved and married did nothing. The problem was that he didn't just _look_ like him: he _acted_ like him--with a few key differences.

Such as maturity, control and understanding; all three of which her beloved had lacked to some degree.

And she shouldn't even be thinking about this right now, she realised. Fresh worry clutched at her stomach. Weren't things bad enough without adding more layers of confusion? She already felt as if everything was unravelling faster than she could possibly keep up with. Now was _not_ the time for her focus to scatter. Delusions—mostly her own—were being eroded slowly but surely. History was repeating itself and she was powerless to stop it. After today, control was an illusion that she could no longer labour under. The only being who seemed able to withstand the tide of change was the one who'd heralded it: Anakin.

Considering everything, that notion was disquieting at best. Worse, in mere weeks, the line between _wanting_ to trust and _able_ to trust had become frighteningly blurred.

She clenched her free hand into a fist, trying and failing to block out the thoughts she knew would come. _It's not about trust. I need him for now, that's all._

The part of Padmé that refused to lie—even to herself—sneered, _You want to need him. There's a big difference._

You're wrong. Freyrr needs him or I wouldn't be here. I can't do this alone. If he helps me find her, then it will have been worth it. I can manage this.

_Stop lying to yourself. You've never been able to manage Anakin, or what he makes you feel. It makes no difference that he's changed, or even what he's been. You're weakening. You think about him all of the time. You let the memories swamp you. In the dark, when no-one is looking, you even dream of him._

Stop it! You're not helping. Memories are understandable. I loved him once.

_You love him still. Nothing's changed._

"Are you alright?" Anakin's voice was a deep rumble, interrupting her internal monologue. He'd stopped and turned to face her without her realising that her feet were no longer moving, and possibly hadn't been for some time. Concern shone out of bright blue eyes as he looked down into her face.

That concern slid over her raw emotions like a warm caress. For a fleeting second, she wanted only to be drawn in by him so that she could burrow into his strength. _But you can't!_

Padmé blinked, sucking in short breaths to clear the fugue from her mind. "I'm fine. Just a little tired, maybe." She glanced around, looking anywhere but at Anakin. "Where's this seer?"

"Whoa! So _not_ a seer." A green face topped with spiked blonde hair appeared at Anakin's shoulder. "You should hear what happened to the last one I knew and adored. I'm anagogic, princess. You sing and I take a gander into your soul—which, I'm sure is as gorgeous as the rest of you."

Padmé blinked again. The figure before her seemed to run the whole range of the colour spectrum. Other than the bright green skin, the tall, trim figure wore a tailored outfit the colour of succulent red grapes. Something silky and peach-coloured frothed from the V-eed neckline. Above it, red eyes twinkled engagingly at her.

"Thank you," was all she could manage.

Anakin performed the introductions. "Padmé, this is Lorne. Lorne, this is Councillor Padmé Amidala."

"Nice to meet you," said Lorne charmingly. He then swung on Anakin. "You've been here what, twenty seconds? And I'm already getting a vibe that has my spidey-senses tingling." He clicked his fingers, miming thinking. "Wait. Don't tell me, I know this one. It's a matter of life and death and you need my help?"

Anakin nodded. "Something like that, yes. Actually, exactly like that. We need to find a friend who's gone missing. Can you help us?"

Lorne pulled a face. "Sorry, folks, I'd love to help, but I'm booked solid." He went to move away.

Anakin blocked him. "You could squeeze us in. We wouldn't take up much of your time. It's important."

"It's _always_ important with you hero types. Trust me, I have experience."

Anakin didn't budge. "Please!"

A silent witness, Padmé got the distinct impression that Lorne was battling himself, an impression not changed even when resignation ghosted over his expressive face. "Alright. Fine. I give in." He gusted out a sigh. "I can recognise persistence when it's parked in my front yard. Besides, who am I kidding? I'd never survive the guilt-trip if I stuck with 'no'. Who's singing?"

"Padmé—"

"Anakin—"

Padmé swung on Anakin. "Why do I have to sing?"

"She's your friend, Padmé. Besides, I don't think it would work with me."

That begged another question and she pinned Lorne with a look. "First, tell to me how looking into my soul will help you see where my friend might be?" She flicked a fulminating glare at Anakin. "For some reason, Anakin didn't explain it properly."

The Pylean shrugged. "I don't just see pretty colours, sweetcheeks. Lots of things are tied up with the soul: past loves, dark desires—the day old chilli you ate for breakfast and then repeats on you all day." When she didn't smile, Lorne rolled his eyes, explaining, "When I look at someone singing it's like an all-spiritual-buffet with a side dish of destiny. I can't _promise_ that I'll see anything that'll help you, but—" he lifted his hands, palms up"—then again, I might."

Resigning herself, Padmé closed her eyes. It was worth a try. "Fine. I'll sing."

ooo

Anakin watched from the side, propped up against a nearby wall as Lorne fetched Padmé a stool and set up the mic for her. She hadn't changed clothes since their near-death-scrape and there were singes in her navy cloak. Her hair had also suffered and she'd let it down to tumble around her face and shoulders. He knew for a fact that they both reeked like a pair of Krakana fillet steaks burnt to a cinder. None of it made a difference. As always, she looked beautiful to him.

He kept to the shadows so that he could look at her and not worry about what others might see on his face. He'd only ever heard her sing twice before: once at their brief wedding ceremony and again much later on Coruscant. She'd been heavily pregnant and laughingly told him that she was practicing old Naboo nursery rhymes. Both times, he'd kissed her senseless afterwards.

It was foolish, and didn't say much about his self-control, but Anakin was trembling as he waited for her to sing again. However, it wasn't just her that caused the tremors, but a slow burning anger that he was keeping under ruthless control.

Two assassination attempts in less than that many days, as well as an ally going missing was definite cause for concern, and _infuriated_ him. Threats to those he loved had always been fuel to his rage, and it bubbled just under the surface now. It was as different from the despairing resentment of the last three weeks as hot was from cold.

Under his clothing, he was tense, coiled, ready, _wanting_ to unleash and hit back. He knew better than to let Padmé see it. In days of old, that rage would have been all too apparent. As Skywalker, he would have paced and ranted, simmering. As Vader, he would have hoarded it, stoking it for use at some future, vengeful date. Now, he kept it bridled, aware of the destructive force it would become if he didn't contain it.

_Fear leads to anger... anger leads to hate… hate leads to suffering._

In his youth, Anakin had dismissed Yoda's teachings. He'd been convinced that his rage merely fuelled him, forging a stronger connection to the Force. He'd been arrogant and wrong. He couldn't afford to make the same mistake, especially now when his powers were once again on the rise. Every second of every day, the flow of the Force seemed to swell stronger inside him. Not unlike the sandstorms he'd endured on Tatooine as a child, the shifting eddies bombarded him. The density of life in the surrounding forest no longer hindered his abilities. Anakin was so sensitised, at times he would swear he could sense the twirling progress of a falling leaf in that same forest.

Such sensitivity had certainly come in handy earlier today. Still, he didn't know which was more dangerous: his intoxication with wielding such power again, or his fear of it dragging him back down into darkness.

This time it was Obi-Wan's voice that whispered in his ear, _All the more reason to be mindful and control your anger. Don't get complaisant, Anakin._

Anakin knew it was good advice.

Padmé's presence helped. The last few hours proved that just being with her soothed him. Stronger than his wrath was his need to protect. That instinct was also surging powerfully in him. Wisely, he also kept such instincts concealed behind a matter-of-fact tone and neutral expression—Padmé would balk if she knew.

Moments later, Anakin had to compose himself as a disgruntled Lorne joined him.

"We'll be ready to rock in a minute. Just so you know, I had to promise a deluxe reading to the client you two just bumped down to the end of the queue."

Anakin folded his arms, sparing only a brief, "We really appreciate it."

"You'd better. We're talking about a regular here, and a Lepi. I'm about to get the Director's Cut version of raw, bloody mammal á la carte and an amorous Bugs Bunny with performance issues." Lorne shuddered at the thought.

Anakin knew enough about Lepis to sympathise. He winced. "I'll make it up to you."

"To coin a phrase, you're darn tooting …which reminds me, I haven't seen you around for a while. I heard a rumour that you've taken to hibernating between lopping off demon heads?"

"Let's just say I've been keeping a low profile."

Instead of continuing to probe as Anakin half expected, Lorne left it with a knowing look and a philosophical shrug. "Fair enough."

On the stage, Padmé stared haughtily over the heads of the audience—every inch a Queen. The strains of something light and melodic began to float from the far side of the stage where the band was partially hidden. The difference in tempo from the club's usual fare had the crowd quieting, intrigued. When she began to sing, the first soaring note struck right to Anakin's heart, forcing him to briefly slide shut his eyes.

Next to him, Lorne quirked a brow, impressed. "Hmm, an aria—unexpected and it makes a nice change. She has a great set of pipes for it too."

The other patrons seemed to think so too. An electrified silence reigned during the short, bittersweet song. Spellbound, the trembles increased in Anakin. With each breath, he took her voice inside himself, filling himself to overflowing and awaking desire.

While she sang, Lorne forgot the drink in his hand and stared fixedly at Padmé, a frown digging deeper grooves between his brows.

Afterwards, covered by the enthusiastic applause, Lorne glanced over at Anakin, who turned his own head to meet the quizzical red gaze, squarely. "Well, colour me surprised," drawled the Pylean. "I knew you had a story lurking behind those baby blues, but, I didn't have you down as the destroyer of worlds in big, bad black." The green head cocked, expression mildly amused. "Y'know, the Greeks would have adored you—the fateful hero tragically falling to evil through a combination of free will and bitchy fate—never a happy mix."

Anakin didn't ask who the Greeks were. He was getting used to the Pylean's bizarre statements. Besides, he'd just realised something. "It's funny, but I think I may have even _wanted_ you to find out. For some reason it makes a big difference that someone else knows the truth. I knew the risk when I suggested this to Padmé."

He wasn't lying, he felt as if a mammoth weight had been lifted off his chest.

"Glad I could help," said Lorne dryly. "Tell me something, why me?"

"I'm not sure. I've watched you work. You don't judge people, and I get the impression you've come across my … situation before."

"And then some." Lorne slapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Cuteness. Your secret is safe with me. Just do me one favour, if you're thinking of going darkside again, slip me a heads up so I can relocate to minimum safe distance. I'm sure there's another galaxy out there with room for a handsome green lounge singer."

"I'll bear that in mind. What else did you see?"

Lorne shook his head. "Let's wait for your lovely wife, shall we? I can only tell you what she asks me to tell you. The rest is private, and in my line of work you can't kiss and tell."

ooo

Due to the remote nature of the site, they had to land the speeder a kilometre south to reconnoitre without running the risk of being detected first. With few buildings to break up the wind, it whipped around them as they stood outside the speeder. "Does this look right to you?" Anakin handed the electrobinoculars to Padmé. "I sense no danger, guards or troopers to indicate a detention centre."

Padmé took them and focused on the sprawl of structures, saying, "Your friend Lorne said to think of huge amounts of water. A hydrostation fits the bill, and it's the only place I can think of that also fits everything else he mentioned." She waved a hand at their dark and desolate surroundings. "_'In the city, but out of the way and isolated'_. Nobody lives here. This is a self-contained quadrant simply because of the water and the risk of spills."

"Yeah, and it's not exactly scenic, is it? I guess if they are bringing people here covertly, they don't want any witnesses." The distant hydrostation was a mass of interconnecting structures, huge tanks and innumerable mazes of pipes. The site also looked to be several kilometres in size. "Is it run and maintained by droids?" asked Anakin, thinking of one of Lorne's other cryptic descriptors.

"It is," she confirmed. "They use astromech and hydromech droids for maintenance and operational purposes."

The binoculars were lowered again, a frown forming on Padmé's face. "Why do you think they have those slim poles spaced around the station?"

Anakin took another look and saw what he'd missed at first glance. "They look like perimeter sensors. If you cross between any of them an alarm is tripped." He met her tense gaze. "This complicates things for us." He grimaced. "It also explains the lack of guards."

"Any bright ideas on how we can get across without setting them off?"

He thought about it. "I can get over easily, but getting you over might be a problem."

"Over?"

"They look about five meters in height. I can jump it. The only other option is to try to disable one, and that might set the alarm off anyway."

"I'm not staying behind, Anakin," she warned him, face tight.

"I wasn't thinking you would." He shrugged, aiming for nonchalant when he was feeling anything but casual. "I could take you with me when I make the leap, or I could try levitating you. It's up to you?"

He could see the wheels turning in her head—have his arms around her, or let him use the Force on her. He knew without her saying that their shared history meant neither option appealed to her.

In the end, Padmé went for levitation. Standing facing him with her back to one of the tall sensor arrays, she looked distinctly nervous. "Have you ever lifted a person this high before?"

"Many times and much higher," he assured her. He didn't mention in what circumstances. "Don't worry, I won't hurt you. Don't you remember how I used to love showing off to you by moving things? It's basically the same principle."

"I'm a bit heavier than a piece of fruit, Anakin."

He grinned. "In this case, size really doesn't matter. Ready?"

She scowled at him for his humour. "No, but do it anyway."

Anakin lifted his right hand with the palm cupped. Padmé gave a smothered shriek when her feet smoothly left the ground. Self-preservation had her jerking her arms up as if to keep her balance. Concentrating, he made her ascent slow and gentle, treating her as if she was as delicate as spun glass. He could feel her pulse thundering as the tendrils of the Force he was manipulating curled around her. "Relax. I won't let you fall."

Her reply was breathless. "Ninety percent of me believes you. It's the other ten percent that's the problem."

When she touched back down on the other side, she let out a huff of relief. Seconds later, Anakin used a Force-leap to land next to her, grinning again. "See! Easy."

Padmé looked unconvinced. "I don't care if we set them off on the way back. We'll just have to sprint for the speeder."

"Trust me, by then I don't think it'll matter."

They jogged to the station, glad of the starless night and their own dark clothing. Other than the perimeter sensors there was little other security and they were able to get inside the complex easily. Unfortunately, that was as far as 'easy' went. Half an hour later, they'd searched only a fraction of the station, slipping into buildings, around tanks and up metal ramps to the higher levels. Any droids they'd seen, they'd avoided. Nothing seemed out of place.

"Are you sensing anything?" Padmé asked, sounding disheartened. The complete lack of a human presence meant there was no environmental control to keep it comfortably warm. She was shivering as they walked down one of the many identical corridors that surrounded the power generation sections of the station. Unlike the purification levels, much of it was sealed off with the hydrodroids working in complete darkness to eliminate the risk of reflection.

"Just water … lots of it. It doesn't mean anything, though. Enough moving water can distort Force perception due to kinetic energy, hiding other energy signatures." Almost as soon as the last word was out, he heard something. He halted, tilting his head. "Did you hear that?"

Padmé stopped too. "No. Hear what?"

Anakin strained to listen. "I'm not sure. Listen … there it is again."

Padmé just looked more confused. "I can't hear anything except pumps and equipment humming."

"It's like a whistle." Anakin moved off again, taking a left turn into an off-shooting corridor. "It's intermittent—not constant."

Boots ringing on the metal grating, he stopped by a sealed hatchway. Padmé followed and traced her fingers over the symbol next to the control. "It's a recycling dump."

The whistles were followed by low, disconsolate toots. Padmé looked at Anakin. "I can hear it now. It sounds sort of mournful."

The sounds _were_ bizarrely doleful. "It's a droid and it doesn't like being in there. It must have been slated for decommissioning and spare parts." Anakin eyed the hatch release, thinking and weighing up risks. "Y'know, a droid might be able to save us a lot of searching if we can question it."

Padmé frowned again, uncertain and wary. "What if it sends out an alarm that we're here?"

"We could be here for a week and still only cover half the site if we don't get some inside intel," Anakin countered.

Now it was Padmé's turn to weigh things up. "Alright. Let's try." She pulled the lever and the hatchway unsealed with a hiss.

Running out from the now open-hatch was a long metal chute. "Hold my ankles," said Anakin. He got down onto his knees and slithered down the sloping metal. The bottom was the expected wash of hip-deep broken equipment and detritus. Nearby, a battered, sorry-looking astromech droid was perched on its back atop the mess. When Anakin's head and shoulders appeared, the droid swivelled its domed head, PSI lights flashing green and blue.

Not wanting to waste time, Anakin got to the point. "What would you say to me getting you out of there?"

The droid answered in the affirmative with the familiar clicks, hoots and whistles of binary. For the second time that day, Anakin raised his hand, this time in a half closed fist to get the droid in a full Force-grip. "Don't panic and start screeching or you'll give us away," he warned it. "There's no way you can roll out of there, so I'm going to lift you up."

The droid gave a wondering hoot when it found itself rising up and floating towards Anakin and the chute.

Turning the droid so that it came out dome first, he shimmied back up the chute, assisted by Padmé tugging and heaving him back up. Moments later, the droid was standing with them in the corridor.

"Let's see your number," Anakin said to it, bending down to inspect the stubby, round body. "Ceetee-Sixteesix," he read out-loud. Looking it squarely in its round radar eye, he told it, "Well, Ceetee. I think you owe us, so don't be sending any messages to whoever controls this place. We don't want anyone to know we're here."

More clicks and toots came from the droid.

Satisfied, Anakin straightened. "He won't tell anyone we're here," he assured Padmé.

She didn't say, 'you hope' but he got the message from her sceptical expression, forcing him to protest, "He won't."

"Just ask him if he knows anything about a detention centre."

Anakin did as instructed. After a few whistles, Ceetee turned and trundled off the way they'd come.

Anakin glanced uncertainly at Padmé. "I think that means we should follow him."

"I hope he's not just making a break for freedom," said Padmé.

"Relax," advised Anakin. Privately, he doubted that the droid was making a bid for freedom, but he couldn't guarantee its sense of direction; this was one dented and dinged droid—Force knew what the wiring was like. "I'm sure he knows where he's going."

They followed behind the little white and green droid as he took them to the nearest elevator. When the lift stopped, they stepped out into the fresh air of outside. The droid rolled out onto the ferracrete walkway, turned right and kept going.

Away from the influence of billions of gallons of churning water, Anakin was finally able to detect the missing life signatures. It was like a shade had been drawn up, revealing what was hidden behind it. "I think we're finally getting somewhere. There are people nearby."

In tandem, they picked up speed.

A few meters ahead, Ceetee stopped at a doorway. The little droid turned to face it with an air of expectation, as if it might simply open up because he wanted it to. The door remained shut. A beat later, not to be deterred, the droid's interface arm shot out and slotted into the dataport placed under the surprisingly robust control panel.

"Whoa! Whoa! Wait." Lunging forward to stop the droid, Anakin arrived too late. The durasteel door slid up. On the other side was yet another corridor. Clearly visible at the end of the short corridor was a well-lit chamber. Twin black consoles complete with two human men in uniform were in the centre. At the very back was another elevator. _This was it,_ he thought, feeling his heartbeat kick up.

Having accomplished his objective, Ceetee tootled, rocking slightly on his legs in excitement. Anakin patted the droid's dome and walked past it to enter the corridor. Padmé stayed close on his heels. Reaching out with the Force, he peeled back the dim shades of terror and misery left behind by the most recent prisoners to walk down this same corridor, searching for the one they were here to find. He dealt with the security cams as they walked along, watching them short out under the intense pressure he put them under. To avoid complications, he preferred to leave no record of their being here.

Seeing them approaching, one of the humans frowned, rose and motioned to someone, or something, just out of sight. Rounding his station, the guard strode imperiously to meet them, aggravation evident in every step. A black-painted super battle droid appeared from one side to take up the rear, gun arm ominously extended. Ceetee gave a screech and nervously slowed down so that he was positioned at the rear, behind both Anakin and Padmé.

Once within hearing, the guard didn't waste time. "What are you three doing here? This is a restricted area. How did you get inside?"

They met in the middle of the corridor. "The door was open," said Anakin, calmly. "We merely stepped inside. It must be malfunctioning."

"It was working fine when we ran a diagnostic an hour ago," returned the guard, bullishly. Pale eyes in a hawkish face narrowed. "Don't I know you?"

"We've never met." Anakin reached out, subtly nudging the man's mind with the Force. "But our identities really don't matter."

The guard's face went slack as if wiped clean for one brief moment. "It doesn't matter who you are," he agreed, adding with a frown, "But, I still need to see your authorisation for entering this facility."

Anakin repeated the mind-touch, keeping it light. A zombie would be useless to them. "You've seen our authorisation. Everything is in order. Stand down your droid. Your orders are to co-operate with us fully."

"Stand down," the guard barked at the super battle droid. Almost sullenly, it retracted its forearm back into the resting, upright position. He then bowed to Anakin, gesturing back at the control room. "If you'll come this way, we'll co-operate with you fully."

"Thank you, Captain ..."

The guard blushed at the deliberate 'mistake'. "That would be Lieutenant Ogmar, sir."

"My mistake, but I'm sure that an astute man such as yourself will achieve a captaincy soon. Lead on, Lieutenant."

The small group made their way to the control room. The second guard rose, visibly confused, from his station. Anakin waved his hand again. "There's nothing to worry you here. Resume your duties."

Obediently, the guard complied. At Anakin's side, Padmé shook her head. "This is too easy. It's making me nervous."

"Stop worrying," said Anakin, low voiced. "I'm just thankful they're not as thick-headed as our friend Greesh."

So saying, he turned to Ogmar. "You brought in a Wookiee sometime yesterday, is that correct?"

Ogmar picked up a datapad and checked, confirming very quickly, "A female Wookiee was brought in last evening, sir. The charges are numerous: illegal presence in the core, refusing to co-operate with enforcing authorities, resisting arrest, actual bodily harm—"

"Where is she?" interrupted Padmé.

Waiting for Anakin's nod, Ogmar checked his pad again. "Detention block seventeen. Cell D-11. Full restraints have been used." Unprompted, he also added, "She's scheduled for termination by poison gas in less than one standard hour."

"For resisting arrest?" Padmé's outrage was obvious.

ooo

Having ducked around a corner, Anakin and Padmé watched another pair of super battle droids march down the main corridor. A large ball-shaped droid floated between them, emitting a strange rhythmic sound. "What is that thing between them?" asked Padmé.

"A torture droid." Anakin couldn't bear to even look at it. Guilt clouded the senses, so he shoved away the haunting image of Leia's agony as her own father tortured her using a remarkably similar model. "Come on, let's go. The sooner we're done and out of here, the sooner I'll be happy. This place is crawling with battle droids."

She followed him out of hiding, her blaster held in a tight grip. "And you think I won't be happy to get out of here? How much further is cell D-11?"

Anakin picked up his pace. "Going off the alphanumerical sequencing so far, it should be on the next block."

Still under the influence of the Jedi mind trick, Lieutenant Ogmar had provided a lot of useful information. The secret prison was less than a month old and already held over three hundred prisoners. Like so many things in Roth, it was built in a circular configuration with each block forming a segment of the whole. Soulless, dim corridors linked them all. The only way out was via the same way they came in.

"Are you sure Ceetee can override the door controls?" Padmé had to scurry to keep up with his longer strides. "He's not Artoo, you know."

"That's why I left him up there, and I know he's not Artoo. Let's give him a chance. We're not exactly worse off by letting him try. Here it is." Halting, Anakin raised the comlink he'd confiscated off the now unconscious Lieutenant Ogmar to his lips. "Ceetee, we're at cell D-11. Open her up."

Two seconds passed. Then four. Padmé started to fidget. Finally, the door blocking their way slid up. So did every other door on the block. Padmé shot inside. Anakin went in behind her to the sound of a welcoming roar. The cell was little more than a black box with a recessed cot. The same Wookiee who had guarded Padmé during their first meeting in Roth was pinned to the cell wall by thick, heavy-duty wrist and ankle bracelets. Remedying that with a wave, he watched as Padmé was swept up in the fierce embrace of a relieved, and thankfully unhurt, Freyrr.

That was the only good news, however.

"We have a prob—" Anakin was cut off when he found himself hauled in for a bear hug too. It was like being crushed between two enormously long, hairy pincers. He was sure his ribs screamed a protest. The continuing roars were deafening and needed no translation—Freyrr was grateful for the rescue.

"You're … uh … welcome." He staggered when he was freed.

He hated to burst the celebratory bubble, but he had no choice. A threatening cloud of danger was looming blacker by the second. "Look. We have a problem. Ceetee didn't just open this door, he opened _all_ of them. There's a mass break-out going on even as we speak and I don't think it'll go unnoticed for long. We have to move, _now_!"

TBC

NOTE (4): Yep, another one. I'm sorry for the weird gaps/ends of sentences in earlier chapters. I had no idea that was happening when I was uploading on here, but I'm on the lookout for it now and will edit earlier chapters when I get the chance.


	9. Chapter 9

NOTES  
(1) There is a teeny tiny reference to elements of an Angel episode called Happy Anniversary—no prior knowledge necessary. No infringement intended etc.  
(2) Thanks to **YellowDart** and **NikeJ** for the hard work as beta! XX

As always, sincere thanks for reading and replying!

**mlhkvh5** – I've been told that I have a visual style and I'm so pleased that that seems to be the case for you. More on the rescue attempt in the update below, I hope you like it. Yay! Careful and needy are perfect descriptors of A/P's attitudes to one another, lol. As ever, thank you for the lovely review! X

**lifeonrewind - **Hey, Sammy. Hopefully this chapter will answer some of your questions about Sidious. X

**Chapter Nine**

Anakin stepped out of the cell first. The corridor was filling fast with other escapees. "Head for the turbolift," he told Padmé and Freyrr. "Don't stop, no matter what. It's our only way out of here."

Getting to the turbolift didn't take long. The problem turned out to be the pushing, shoving queue of desperate people ahead of them. More were coming up from all sides.

"Unless you plan on doing a repeat performance on levitation, I think we've hit a dead end" said Padmé, grimly. "I don't suppose you have a plan B?"

"I'm working on it."

The turbolift was in the centre of four semicircular blocks with more radiating out from them in ever increasing circles. Humans, near-humans, insectoids and other sentients that had been imprisoned in those blocks were now all converging at the same spot. The jostling and pushing was harsh, squashing them together. Padmé was sandwiched between Anakin and Freyrr, and the tremendous pressure from behind him made it a struggle to keep from hurting her. The turbolift could only take between ten and twelve normal-sized people at any one time. Starting to feel desperate, Anakin did the math. Three hundred people meant roughly twenty-five trips to get everyone out. There were at least half that many people spread out ahead of them. Some of the species were particularly tall, making it impossible to see what was going on at the front.

For one brief, dark moment, Anakin wished he could simply clear a route and get those who were most important to him out to safety. Not so long ago, he wouldn't have hesitated, cutting down anyone who got in his way—no matter that they were defenceless and their eyes were wheeling with terror. Those clouded by the dark side didn't have a conscience, or show mercy. Bitterly ashamed, he reached out with the Force, searching for a way out for all of them. What he saw were flashing visions of the battle taking place at the turbolift doors as panic turned to viciousness. The Force itself was fairly churning with that panic, and the fighting meant that no-one was getting away.

Their exit was effectively blocked.

Making a decision, he said to Freyrr, "Take Padmé and muscle your way to the front." He knew he didn't have to tell the Wookiee to take care of Padmé. "Someone needs to organise who gets on the elevator before they start killing each other—and we run out of time."

Freyrr gave an approving growl. Padmé grabbed his arm just as he went to turn away and begin pushing his way to the back. She had to shout to be heard over the rising noise of grunts, yells, curses and terrified calls. "What are _you_ going to do?"

He leaned down close to her ear so she could hear him. "We dealt with the droids in the control room, but we know there are more down here. I'd lay bets that this place is about to turn into a shooting gallery. Think about it, it's perfect for an ambush with all of us caught in a crossfire. I have to stop that from happening."

A dull alarm started to sound over their heads. They both knew it meant that the game was definitely up. He watched her battle anxiety, and something else, before Padmé nodded and released his arm. "Take care of yourself. We'll wait for you."

Knowing what might happen if she waited around too long had him rejecting that idea. "No. I don't want you to wait. It's too risky. Just get out as fast as you can. I'll catch up."

He saw the refusal form in her eyes. Resolutely, she shook her head. "We're not leaving without you. It's useless to argue."

With that, they were gone, giving him no further chance to argue anyway. Freyrr led the way, roaring at anyone foolish enough to try and block the Wookiee's path. Her sheer size and strength got them slowly through the press of bodies. Anakin's progress to the back was made easier by the fact that he was heading in the opposite direction to everyone else. Those he passed he tried to calm down, but some were beyond words. He broke free of the last stragglers just in time to hear the familiar sound of heavy mechanical feet marching in tune to the whine of servos. Worried about an even deeper panic causing a dangerous crush, Anakin broke into a run. His lightsaber was already in his hand and ignited when the first three super battle droids marched stiffly around the nearest corner, heading straight for the escapees.

Painted a dull black, with bulky armour and their processing units buried deep in their torso for protection, the 'supers' could intimidate most people merely by their presence. Worry, the same as guilt, clouded Anakin's senses. Dumping every distracting emotion, Anakin centred himself in the Force, effortlessly calling on it to guide his hands. The droids let loose with twin laser cannons the moment the escaping prisoners were in sight. Deflecting back their initial volley, he didn't slow down until he was upon them. Three unnaturally quick slashes sliced effortlessly through armour usually strong enough to withstand blaster bolts. The droids didn't even have a chance to evade. Their top-heavy torsos toppled, sparking, to the floor before being followed by the legs.

It wasn't over. More came.

Humming efficiently in his hands, Anakin's lightsaber was more often than not a blue blur of deadly plasma. Refusing to be drawn into giving chase, and being drawn away, Anakin let them come to him. A part of him was stunned at how calm he felt. There was no pulsing rage to tempt him into tapping into it, only determination. Despite the danger, everything felt so incredibly _right_: the lightsaber in his hand, the currents of the Living Force coursing through and around him, the cause he was fighting for, the people he was protecting. It was a reminder that he hadn't always been a Sith; he'd been a _Jedi_ first. His heartbeat was steady, his breathing not at all laboured. It was as if he'd found his place and taken root in it.

It helped that this battle was nothing like the frantic, bloody malevolence that characterised a Narzgh raid.

Soon the corridors were littered with droid carcasses. The layout of the prison meant that he had to patrol four corridors. Luckily, stealth wasn't in the supers' programming. At one point, he had to literally burn his way through a block of cells to get to his quarry. More than once, blaster fire from behind took out a droid before he could get to it—Padmé: the sheer accuracy of the shots identified her as the marksman. Still, Anakin was kept busy. It wasn't long before the acrid stench of melted metal and scorched circuits was burning the back of his throat. All around, cannon fire had gouged out craters in the walls and floor, mostly from being deflected by Anakin. Smoke lay thick in the air, adding to the gloom and stinging the eyes.

It wasn't just super battle droids. There were dozens of the torture droids as well. Modified for crowd control, they hovered overhead, shooting bolts of electricity at the escapees. The victims ended up writhing in agony on the floor. Using a diving roll, Anakin narrowly avoided the splinters of arcing energy. Deflecting the cannon bolt loosed at him by an approaching super, he felt grim satisfaction when the hovering round, black ball took the hit instead, crashing into a second and taking it down too. Still on his knees, Anakin used a diagonal slash to slice through the battle droid. At the same moment, another appeared around the corner. He had to use Force-absorb as it fired at him, seeming to catch the deadly red bolts in his palm. Converting the raw energy of the bolts, Anakin lashed out with a Force-push strong enough to cause the second droid to be lifted off its feet. Mechanical legs kicking, it collided with reinforcements coming up from the furthest intersection.

How many of them were there? He knew they had to be running out of time. Reinforcements had to be on the way.

From behind, Padmé called his name, urgency in her voice. A glance back showed the last elevator load was standing ready with room enough for him. _About time!_ Not all of the escapees had managed to take cover from those droids that had slipped past Anakin and Padmé. The dead lay sprawled where they'd fallen. Slack, empty faces leapt out at him as he raced over them. Aching for the ones who'd died, he left the lightsaber activated until the last second. Putting on a burst of speed, he sprinted for the turbolift, spinning to deflect laser fire even at the last moment. Padmé, covering his retreat with her blaster as well, timed it so the doors slid shut just as he cleared them. With a shudder, the elevator rose, gathering momentum quickly.

Anakin's gaze found Padmé's and held it. Combat-heightened, his senses were already attuned to her life-force, reassuring him that she was unhurt. He asked anyway, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I think we've managed to get most of the people out. There were a few times when I honestly didn't think we would." There was that _something_ indefinable in her eyes again; it passed between them, tingling. Anakin's heart began to thud, slow and heavy.

The moment was broken when the elevator came to a sudden stop and the lights went out. A female Qiraash at the rear of the elevator car screamed.

ooo

"I've locked down the turbolift. No more can escape, Captain." From his station, Corporal Pon looked over at his superior.

Pacing around the control room, Captain Kathka was sweating. He'd come on duty to find every cell door had been released and, of the twenty super battle droids assigned to guard duty, all but five were showing as offline. _How could that be?_ He also had no idea where the shift team was that he'd been supposed to relieve. "Didn't you see how many were streaking away from here, you fool? Gods know how many we've lost!" His voice was hoarse. Illogically, he despised the unruffled composure he saw in the black, lightly slanted eyes of his subordinate. "Heads will roll for this fiasco," he warned, harshly.

Eloas Kathka knew the price of failure to perform a duty. His last master had been ruthlessly efficient at demonstrating such an inconvenient fact. Kathka's lesson had been deadly. The memory of a towering figure in black with a terrifyingly blank mask—one, moreover, that somehow managed to radiate cold fury—flashed into his mind, turning his bowels to water. Premier Lyonides was nothing compared to the dark lord he'd last served, but the idea of confessing this night's fiasco was far from pleasant. All of a sudden, he was deeply regretting his transfer from the city security detachment. At the time, he'd been so proud to have the Premier demonstrate such confidence in his abilities, and yet now that pride was ashes in his mouth.

_Fool. And now you'll die again for your arrogance. You couldn't just keep a cushy job, could you? No, you have to give in to ambition and seek more. Too busy showing off your new uniform to that whore, Elynya, to think about consequences. Fool. Fool. Fool._

"I have eleven life signs showing up inside the elevator," advised Pon, crisply. "Shall I send it back down for the remaining battle droids to deal with, sir?"

"No," replied Kathka, halting his pacing, thinking furiously. "We daren't risk the last of the droids. The Premier will be furious as it is."

_Gods! So much for those walking tin cans being invincible._

"What about the gas, sir?" asked Pon.

Kathka blinked. "The gas?" It clicked then. Every chamber in the detention level, including corridors and elevator, were fitted with vents that would spew out poison gas at the flick of a switch. He smiled, relieved. "Of course, the gas."

Neither Pon, nor Kathka noticed an astromech droid slide surreptitiously out of the power-down slot normally assigned to the newer, super battle droids.

ooo

Awareness of a danger so strong it was almost a physical manifestation, swept over Anakin. It had nothing to do with the lack of light. The warning was much more immediate than that. But, what could get at them inside an unmoving elevator? For once, he tried to think like Vader. The ceiling? He looked up, wondering if something was about to land on top of the car and cut its way inside—but that didn't feel right. Reaching out with the Force, he sensed the energy contracting, closing in. He almost felt choked with it, as if he was struggling for air.

Air?

Ogmar's voice echoed in his head. _"She's scheduled for termination by poison gas in less than one standard hour."_

Gas? Why engage an enemy when an easier, more efficient method was available?

Thanks to excellent night vision, he could see fairly well. His gaze flew to a vent on the lower right wall. Hunkering down he checked it out. The mesh was too tight for him to find the grip necessary to wrench it out with his fingers. He used a Force-pull.

"What are you doing?" asked Padmé by his ear.

"I'll let you know when I figure it out myself."

Reaching in and upwards with his left arm jammed almost to the shoulder, Anakin felt the normal flow of air over his fingers. He also found another inlet pipe. There seemed to be no flow of air from it, and yet, almost as soon as his fingers touched it, he felt it vibrate slightly. "Everyone suck in a deep breath and hold it," he demanded loudly, hoping he was wrong.

He wasn't. Gas slid between his fingers. Straining even higher, Anakin grasped the pipe and brought his will down on it, crushing the metal to form a make-shift stopper. Even as he did it, he knew it was unlikely that such a seal was good enough. Worried that he'd only slowed the gas, but not stopped it, Anakin pulled his arm out and stood up. "Stand back and make room. Breathe only if you must."

Igniting his lightsaber, Anakin began cutting into the ceiling of the elevator car. When he was four-fifths finished, he leapt up and knocked the section he'd cut away aside. Grasping the still heated edge, he pulled himself up enough that his head popped outside. Recklessly, he took a deep lungful of air from the elevator shaft. As he'd hoped, it was clean. He let himself drop again, landing nimbly back on his feet inside the elevator. He found just shy of a dozen sets of wide-eyes all looking at him for an answer and reassurance.

Anakin opened his mouth, but couldn't find the words. What did they expect him to say—everything's going to be fine? Frustration surged. He'd done what he could, but unless he could get the elevator moving again, that outcome was unlikely.

Unless … "We could try climbing out?"

Just then, the elevator car gave a jerk, the lights flickered and it started to shoot upwards again.

ooo

"What's going on?" Kathka's eyes boggled at what his screen was showing. "I thought you said you'd locked the elevator down?"

"I did, sir." Pon was pushing buttons, checking and double checking his previous system commands. It didn't take him long to realise that nothing he did was having an effect. "I've been locked out of the system, sir."

Kathka was finding out he was similarly blocked. His fingers prodded agitatedly at the keys. "How is this possible?"

"Backup is still fifteen minutes away, sir."

"I know."

"The elevator will be here any moment, sir."

"I _know_! For Chaos' sake just shut up!" Kathka snatched up his blaster and positioned himself in front of the elevator doors.

Corporal Pon, still composed, mirrored him. Out of the corner of his eye, the corporal finally spotted the astromech droid with its interface arm firmly jacked into a main dataport. "Sir, that droid—it shouldn't be here. It has to be the reason we can't access the system."

Kathka looked away at the crucial moment. He was just about to turn and take aim at the droid when the elevator doors slid apart—and his blaster went flying out of his hand, along with Pon's, and into the hands of the man at the front of the elevator.

Frozen and disarmed, Kathka's face drained of colour. The only being he'd ever seen perform such a trick was his old master, Lord Vader. For some reason his brain insisted on superimposing that Dark Lord's terrible visage over the smooth face now staring at him. All the strength dissolved in his legs, making it impossible to move. It took him a moment to shake his wits into order. "I know you. You're Anakin Skywalker. What …I don't understand?"

ooo

Petris Lyonides had never bowed to, or kneeled before, anyone.

Approaching the black-robed and hooded figure reposing on an almost throne-like chair, he felt a quiver in his knees. He blamed it on the depressing oppression of the underground chamber. That and the stench of dead, decaying flesh lying fetid on the air. Suppressing the urge to cover his nose with the sleeve of his tunic, Lyonides settled for inclining his head. "Lord Sidious, you requested a meeting."

"I did," the other rasped. "I want an update on our… manoeuvrings."

That it was a demand rankled. That he did not have the courage to refuse rankled even more. "The curfew is in place. The necessary laws have been put into place following the attacks I engineered. There have been uprisings, but nothing that couldn't be stamped out. Roth is still fully under _my_ control, as I told you it would be."

"Good. Good," crooned Sidious. "I didn't doubt you for a moment, my friend. After all, you have experience and drive, as you've demonstrated in the past." He leaned forward, little more than a darker, shrouded silhouette. "Now, tell me about Amidala and Skywalker."

Lyonides stiffened, this time at the mention of those names. "Both assassination attempts on Amidala failed just as you predicted. During the second, it became necessary to remove the Wookiee that she was using as a bodyguard. I had intended to dispose of that creature after the event."

"A necessary precaution, I'm sure," conceded Sidious. There was a dead pause. "Yet, you said 'intended'. Do I take it that your little detour has gone awry?"

Sweat broke out on Lyonides' forehead. Much as a rodent might sense the insidious drift of poison, he sensed displeasure. Heart lurching fearfully, he proceeded with caution. "Skywalker was somehow able to locate the Wookiee and free her, along with every other prisoner. There were heavy losses. Punishments for such a dismal failure are being meted out even as we speak." He rushed on, "I plan to have him arrested in the morning—"

"Do nothing."

"_What?_ But, I can't do _nothing_—"

"You can and you will." Sidious' demand came out as a proclamation. Lyonides felt that quiver in his knees again. This time there was no denying the wave of malice that washed over Lyonides, raising every fine hair on his body. Sidious wasn't finished. "I've already told you that I have everything in place. The plan is in motion and proceeding exactly as I've foreseen. This little set-back of yours requires no alteration to those plans. In fact, it helps me a great deal. I wanted Skywalker distracted and provoked and you've accomplished that. Consider it a job well done and control your offended pride."

It took a great deal of effort for Lyonides to make any reply. Pride battled with caution, and won. Simmering, he snarled, "You give me no choice but to comply, Lord Sidious. I should warn you that I didn't bargain for any of this."

"You arrested the Wookiee. That was not in the plan. If losing her has cost you then you must look to yourself for the blame." The icy chill in that reply had Lyonides' head bowing against his will. It was as if a heavy hand had grasped his head, forcing the mark of respect, and obedience. Wounded pride quailed as dread skittered down his spine. All of a sudden, he could no longer ignore the bodies still shackled to the walls. From underneath his lashes, his eyes flickered from one to another; gleaming bone, flaps of grey skin, dark pools underneath. The sightless eyes seemed to stab into his own. His gorge rose to choke him.

_Oh Gods! What had he done? It wasn't supposed to be like this—it hadn't been this way when his father had made a deal._ It had been so simple, deniable, and most importantly, out of sight.

After a few silent beats, Sidious appeared to take pity on him. The pressure lifted. "Do not concern yourself with a few petty humiliations, Premier. Skywalker and all whom he cares for will suffer more than you can possibly imagine before I am finished—that I can promise you."

Lyonides believed the Sith lord, and actually pitied Skywalker and Amidala. "And the rest of your promises?"

"Will be delivered in full." Sidious flicked one, long skeletal finger in dismissal. "You may leave now. I will contact you when I need you again. Go about your business and leave Skywalker to me."

To Lyonides' left, a holoprojector hummed into life, startling him with the sudden glow as a figure appeared. As he hurried out of the chamber and into the tunnels, he couldn't help but think that he'd been given a temporary reprieve—perhaps from death.

ooo

"I should have followed my first impulse and left you to die on Mustafar, my very treacherous apprentice."

The darkness of the chamber was nothing to the dark malevolence of that voice. Hatred boiled in Darth Sidious, Dark Lord of the Sith, as he circled the frozen, life-sized holorecording of a man. Crystal clear and in full colour, the figure had his head and shoulders thrown back, caught in the act of taking in a deep lungful of air after battle. Sodden, dark blonde hair was plastered to the man's head and neck. The bright blue eyes were closed.

"But that wasn't my first mistake. No, my first mistake was not foreseeing how weak you really were inside." Under the cowl, Sidious glared balefully at the youthful face. "Killing me and _yourself_ just to save your whelp of a son—how pathetically mundane. I expected more from you, Lord Vader. You disappoint me." Turning his back on the image, Sidious paced away, nodding slowly to himself. "I see now that you didn't deserve to be a Sith. I offered you true power and you let loss limit your reach for it. I should have realised then—I was warned, but I didn't take heed—another mistake. No matter, there will be no more."

The finality in that last statement was chillingly absolute. The rasp of his voice woke the pitiful creature chained in the very blackest corner of the dank, secret chamber. Sidious 

ignored the visceral tug he felt as a choked whimper broke free, teasing him. It was a matter of pride, and control, that he refused to allow his train of thought to be disrupted by a purely physical need. "There will be revenge, but there will also be gain. Luke Skywalker and his sister are out of my reach—for now—but there are other ways. There are always other ways of achieving an objective. One simply has to improvise."

Opportunity, flexibility and improvisation were essential elements to any strategy. Pride had nothing to do with it, Sidious _knew_ he was a strategist unequalled throughout the galaxy.

For example, the mutations his body had undergone after death were just another change to become adjusted to, planned for, and _used_. Sidious raised his hands, allowing the robe sleeves to fall back. With the exception of the holorecording, there was no other lightsource. He didn't need any. Gone were the withered, gnarled hands of a decaying old man. What had taken their place might look more like long, brittle claws, but they were incredibly _strong_.

Strength was another important element.

Sidious clenched his fists, digging the talons into his own blackened flesh, relishing the stinging pain, and the near future. "Soon, my connection with the dark side of the Force will be strong enough to cast off restraint. Soon, I will no longer need to expend so much energy simply to remain in this 'second' world. After that, everyone—including Vader—_no_ Skywalker—will be nothing more than fodder to my cause."

Then, like a few of his more revered Sith predecessors, Sidious would gain enough strength from the reign of terror he intended to invoke to return to the living world—as a mere shade, true, but, he had a contingency plan for that, just as he had done for everything else.

Fear was the key. Fear was right here.

Sidious finally allowed himself to give his full attention to his 'guest'. He approached slowly, savouring the stench of futile terror. The dark energies in the room seethed with it, every bit as ravenous as he. At first, this new hunger in him had elicited a faint disgust, but survival made any necessity palatable—even, dare he say it—enjoyable. Reaching out, he stroked one cheek, scraping by the eye he hadn't yet plucked out. She gave him so much gratification, as well as nourishment: puffs of horror; strangled wails of agony; icy sweat that tingled saltily on the tongue; desperate, uncontrollable urination.

ooo

Padmé made her way back to the bar after having made use of the hot sonic shower in Lorne's apartment. The exotic strangeness of the club's owner was even more evident in his personal quarters. The green humanoid was definitely not afraid to clash colours and styles. Effervescent gaudiness ran through the apartment every bit as much as in the Pylean's wardrobe. Situated on the same floor, the two areas were separated by a short hallway and a door at either end. It was out of hours and the club was closed. Punchy with exhaustion, and an odd shift inside herself that she couldn't identify, she almost barrelled into Anakin, who was waiting for her.

His hands reached out to steady her. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

The blue of his eyes trapped her. "You didn't." His smile said different. She felt her lips curve in a rueful, return smile. "Okay, maybe you did." Her heart gave a flutter when his 

gaze dropped briefly to her lips. _Gods!_. Oddly breathless, she asked, "Where is everyone?"

Dropping his hands, he jerked his head to indicate deeper into the club. "Sitting down. Lorne has Ceetee on waiter training. I advise you to smell your drink before risking a sip."

"That sounds like good advice. I'll be sure to take it." Still jittery, she could only pray that it didn't come out sounding overly chirpy. Walking next to him, she felt superheated and ridiculously sensitised.

_Get a grip. Think about something else!_

In defence, she concentrated on their surroundings rather than Anakin. With the lights on full, the club looked surprisingly clean and spacious now that it was empty. Tiny cleaning droids were still zooming around, brushing and polishing. Sal Trent, Anakin's pilot friend, was sitting with Lorne and Freyrr in a large booth. As Anakin had warned, Ceetee was zipping along happily with a tray clutched in one of his utility arms.

Lorne, ever present drink to hand, jiggled the cup at her. "Hey, sweetcheeks. What do you say to a night-cap to round off the highjinks portion of the evening?"

"It's only a few hours until morning," Padmé pointed out, lightly, taking the last space beside Freyrr.

"Which means it's neither too early in the morning, nor too late at night to drink. Perfect timing."

Anakin pulled up a stool, but didn't sit. "You can't argue with logic like that," he joked. "Do you want a sweet caf?"

It was bizarre, yet relaxing to find herself in a second-rate bar drinking with mostly strangers in the middle of the night, especially after a night spent breaking the law. It was also a welcome distraction. She found herself grinning. "Yes, please. Although, considering I'm exhausted and yet still wound up, I don't know if a stimulant is such a wonderful idea."

"I'll make it a milky one."

Anakin shared a brief glance with Sal before going over to the dispenser behind the bar. Obviously getting the message, Sal straightened up to tell her, "Talking about needing sleep, Anakin is gonna bunk in with me tonight so that you and Freyrr here can share his room."

"Sorry, kiddo," interjected Lorne, grimacing apologetically. "I don't have a spare room or I'd give it to you in a heartbeat. I've got some spare pallets with mattresses and sheets, though, so whoever doesn't get the bed can get comfortable."

Considering she'd been thinking longingly of finding any flat spot to curl up on and sleep, it was a tempting offer, except, "I can't take your be—room," she told Anakin as he placed a fragrant cup of caf in front of her. A flush worked its way up her neck at her near slip of the tongue.

He settled his tall, lean form on the stool and folded his arms on the table top. "We've already agreed that you can't go back to your place, and I want you to get a good sleep. You've had a rough night."

"We all have," she reminded him. Still, it seemed churlish to continue to argue. "Alright. Thank you." She took a deep breath. "Saying that, I don't share your confidence that Lyonides won't send a detachment out to arrest us. He has to know who's responsible by now."

"I was the only one positively identified and the security cams and arrest records were either destroyed or wiped clean by Ceetee, so there is no other evidence." Anakin countered, patiently. "You could say one of the benefits of my new celebrity status is that he can't arrest me without good cause—and, considering the break-out happened from a detention centre that he can't admit exists, he can hardly use that as the reason."

Sal nodded, perfectly unconcerned. "Besides, I think we can guarantee that our boy here wouldn't go quietly. Lyonides will know that and won't risk a confrontation in the Outer Rim. There'd be a riot if he was dumb enough to try it." Tipping back his head, Sal finished his drink, grimacing as the bite of the alcohol hit the back of his throat. "The Premier isn't exactly popular out here, and folks have got kinda partial to having someone who can kick Narzgh butt living close by."

"So have I," quipped Lorne. "Not that I'm riot material—I'm more of your pacifist, dimension-hoppin' demon, if you know what I mean. I'd cheer and make snazzy banners, though. Maybe sing a rousing rendition of Jailhouse Rock."

Eager to please, Ceetee deposited a fresh cup—green smoke curling ominously—next to Sal's elbow. Picking it up, he swigged and rolled his eyes. "Don't start with that dimension-hopping crap again." The cough hit him mid-sentence. The rest came out as a wheeze. "I've seen and heard lots of crazy things, but I've never heard of anyone crossing dimensions—"

Unfazed, Lorne slapped him on the back to help him clear his airway. "Sweetie, I could curl even your 'doo with the stuff that you've never heard before. Did I ever tell you the one about the Lubber demons and the physicist…?"

Obviously amused, Freyrr gave a roar of interest, egging the Pylean on.

Recovered, Sal waved the assistance away and was less gracious. "Yeah, yeah. So you keeping saying, and, no, I don't think I wanna know…"

"Don't worry about Lyonides. You'll be safe here," Anakin told Padmé, grabbing her attention while the others were busy. "I'm only on the floor below you and if someone tries to get to you, I'll know before they're even close. Trust me."

He said it as if he was making a solemn vow. Padmé had to swallow a sudden lump. Telling herself that it was dangerous and stupid to come to depend on him didn't make it any less tempting. She was too drained to fight him, or herself, any more tonight. "I wouldn't have had a chance of finding and freeing Freyrr if it wasn't for you. I'm grateful and I do trust you." She was jittery with nerves all over again, and it had nothing to do with Lyonides. She smiled, trying to dispel the sudden intensity. "Don't mind me—I worry because that's my job."

ooo

Anakin waited until Padmé and Freyrr were settled and then set off. Both the Wookiee and Sal knew where he was going and why. They also understood not to tell Padmé. He told himself it wasn't lying or being underhand, he just didn't want her worrying needlessly. He wasn't planning to be gone long. After the events of the last day, Anakin had decided that it was time he returned the favour and engineered a meeting with 

Petris Lyonides. Certain realities, he realised, needed to be spelled out, as well as consequences. It might be the middle of the night, but he'd never been one to put off what needed doing until it was _convenient_.

During curfew, the Core was locked down by massive, blast-proof gates barring every entryway from the Outer Rim. Getting over them was relatively easy, and so was avoiding the enforcement patrols. To make the journey quicker, he hitched a ride atop an unsuspecting security shuttle, which took him to within a kilometre of the palace. Slipping out of the heavily staffed hanger bay was more about timing than skill. Outside, he blended into the darkness of the cityscape with his equally dark clothing. The journey was finished on foot via the 'glides. All around him, the inhabitants of the Core slept on.

Dulled by hours of monotony, the guards at the numerous security checkpoints he passed only needed a mind-nudge to allow him to pass unchallenged.

Ahead, bathed in the glow of artificial lighting, Roth's palace looked serene and inviting. There was nothing here of imposing ziggurats or pyramids. The original builders, Anakin mused, hadn't been trying to intimidate the citizens of the city, or make grand statements. It didn't suit Lyonides. Running lightly through the ornamental gardens and then up the stone steps, he entered the grand corridor that ran almost the entire length of the palace. Libraries, robing rooms, private offices, lobbies and a myriad of unidentified chambers led off the main corridor. All were shrouded in darkness.

Security seemed extremely lax indeed. Anakin sincerely hoped such an appearance was deceptive. He didn't try to hide his presence and let a mixture of whim and instinct guide his steps. Taking the stairs of a sweeping staircase two at a time, he began to climb to the first floor. He'd gone no more than half a dozen steps when he finally felt the intricate tracery of energy that was the Force jangle a warning. He sensed the presence of other beings. From the tense, expectant silence, and the way the life signatures were spread out, he guessed it was an ambush. Obviously, they were lying in wait on the landing to catch the 'intruder'. Anakin smiled grimly to himself. Keeping his lightsaber attached to the belt, hidden under his cloak, he decided to let them spring their 'trap'. The moment he reached the very top step, a light was shone in his eyes. A harsh voice ordered him to halt.

He halted.

"Put your hands up and keep them where we can see them," the voice commanded. "No sudden moves."

The light continued to shine fully in his face, blinding him. "Easy," Anakin admonished, lightly. He dutifully raised his hands. "I'm no threat to you."

He estimated a ten-strong squad. Rough, gloved hands patted him down. Rather than risk losing his lightsaber, Anakin was a bit too forceful with this latest mind-push. "I'm unarmed."

The guard searching him stumbled dizzily. He had to shake his head to clear it before he could report as Anakin had influenced him, confirming, "He's unarmed, Commander."

The light dipped, but didn't drop fully. "Unarmed or not, you shouldn't be here. You're under arrest for trespassing." The voice remained grim and unimpressed. "That's just for starters. I don't care who you are. Nobody gets to just waltz into the palace in the middle of the night."

Anakin concentrated fully on the vague shape of commander. He didn't bother trying to apply any mind tricks—something told him they wouldn't work with this one. Instead, he chose to use words to plant a suggestion. "I'm here to see the Premier. I advise that you contact him before you take this … misunderstanding further than he'd like, Commander."

The man shifted, obviously put out at having suggestions thrown at him by a prisoner. "It's three am, and the Premier retired hours ago. That doesn't suggest to me that he's expecting visitors."

"Unexpected doesn't always mean unwelcome," retorted Anakin, calmly. His hands were folded in front of him, presenting a demeanour of non-threatening patience. Obi-Wan had been an expert at such tricks, he recalled with an affection that strangely jolted. He could almost feel his old Jedi mentor standing next to him, facing the same obstacle and dangers.

_Focus. Don't get distracted._

There was a hurried, whispered conference involving three of the guards. More flashlights joined the first, pointed at the ground to provide everyone with enough illumination to see. Anakin kept his gaze on the commander. At least he could see him properly now. Square-jawed and obstinate looking with a thick mane of salt and pepper hair, the man was mature enough to be confident in his role. The question was whether the man was assured enough to risk his position by a false move, either way.

A decision was reached. "Alright, Skywalker, I'm going to contact the Premier's apartment. You'd better hope that he's _ecstatic_ to be woken up to chat with you."

ooo

The cloud cover had broken enough for a stray moonbeam to thread through the wooden shutters. Silvery white, the beam of light caught slim fingers running lightly over a pillow. Those same fingers dipped off the soft edge, splaying wide over the under-sheet as if soaking up something precious. The bedding was clean. Raised in a temple from a child, Anakin was meticulous. Still, she'd been intimate with him enough to recognise the subtle scents impregnated into the cotton fibres.

_Anakin_. This was his bed. He slept here. During their marriage, he'd always come to her bed. Stupidly, she felt as if she'd missed something important.

Those scents were her undoing. She was wreathed in him, surrounded.

Tears trembled unnoticed at the edges of her lashes. Yet, she wasn't unhappy, just weak. The coverings were tangled around her legs and body. She didn't attempt to untangle them. If she tried really, really hard, Padmé could imagine that he was here with her, that his legs were tucked between hers, nestling her into the strong, heated curve of his body, his arms around her, his breath caressing her neck. If that were the case, all she had to do was tilt and turn her head to receive his kiss.

She could almost hear the deep rumble of his voice, passion-roughened to new depths, teasing her, _Kiss me._

Heavy, liquid heat pooled in her belly. A tear slipped free. More than once during the night the urge to kiss him had swept in out of nowhere. It was those damned heroics of his slipping under her defences, just as they had all those years ago. Watching him fight—defying death right in front of her eyes—had finally ripped her blinders away. A sigh gusted out of her lips, wavering on the air. She was tired of denying it anymore. What was the use? It wasn't doing her any good. Despite everything, her need for him was growing. She was falling in love again. Anakin was pushing aside every barrier to her heart with an ease that scared her, freeing the well of love she'd already been carrying for him—and always would.

The terrible things he'd done when he'd turned to the dark side no longer helped her hold him at bay. She could see how desperately he wanted to atone and it made her heart ache.

The last day and night had proved that she couldn't separate the two halves of his life, deluding herself that she only loved one and despised the other. Padmé didn't pretend to understand how Anakin could be both, or how he could have done the things he had, but she loved him regardless.

That was _her_ weakness.

Another tear slipped free, splashing onto her cheek. Pain bloomed, riding on the back of resentment and quenched the heat. _Except nothing else had changed_.

The second world was a dangerous place. If she let herself follow her heart, could she guarantee that history wouldn't repeat itself on this too? _Anakin's_ weakness was the fear of loss. The horror that was Vader had been born out of that fear. She remembered the nightmares, rash paranoia, and black obsession all too well. The memories roughened her skin with goose-bumps. What if he had another nightmare about her? What if she were under threat, as she was now? If she were to die now, she would go to the first world, this time to stay, separating them again. If she told him she loved him, they'd become lovers. What would Anakin then do if he was faced with her losing her a second time?

Last time, millions had paid for her mistake in tempting him to defy the Jedi Code. Did she even have the right to risk it again?

Chest aching, Padmé already knew the answer. No. But, still, a part of her was teetering on the brink of not caring about right and wrong. If he pushed it, she might crumble.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

NOTES:

(1) Starwars epithets etc from blog..  
(2) Thanks to **Yellowdart** for the beta  
(3) Signed reviews will have had a reply and anon is below:

_lal08 - __Absolutely beautiful... I am out of words..._

Thank you! Blush I am so glad that you're enjoying the story.

_mlhkvh5 - This was a wonderful continuation of this adventure! I like the way the rescue went, and Sidious is absolutly grotesque, as ususual. Anakin and Lyonides confrontation was good, so Anakin like. Poor Padme, she is so torn by her emotions-you describe them very well. I look forward to what happens next!_

Thank you once again for the wonderful support and encouragement :) I enjoy writing action and I think this comes across (and will be borne out by the next few chapters, lol.)

_cwbasset - __I am truly enjoying your story. It is very well written, and riviting. There is only one problem. It has been two and a half weeks without an update, and I am going through withdrawls... Please update soon!_

Hi, cwbasset. I aim to please g See note below for the reason for the delay and I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

**(4) I'm sorry this is late. I've been away on holiday. I hope you enjoy reading!**

**Chapter Ten**

A ball of nerves was swelling larger in his gut. It galled Lyonides to admit it, but the anxiety was undeniably there. The same questions kept drumming through his brain. _Why was Skywalker here now? Could he suspect something?_ The mere possibility of the answer being in the affirmative made the ball swell larger, rising up to constrict his chest. There was another reason for the unease. What would Sidious do if his instructions and training on the shielding of thoughts failed? His gut clutched. Fear of putting this new 'skill' to the test had almost caused Lyonides to refuse the meeting—his chosen courtesan for the night had obviously been expecting him to—_but he had to know what Skywalker wanted_.

Sweat trickled down from his hair. He swiped it away. In addition to the strictures on shielding his thoughts imposed by Sidious, Lyonides' own instincts demanded he appear unruffled. Mere months ago such an effect would have been effortless, but Lyonides was finding himself more and more rattled these days. The distance between his private apartments and the library used by his personal staff took only a few minutes to cross. He needed every moment to compose himself. Chaos take these Force fanatics! He preferred it when he knew next to nothing about the Jedi and their starforsaken magic tricks. It was infuriating to know that there were beings in existence who could read his emotions—and possibly divine his thoughts—as easily as scrolling a datapad. The library doors loomed ahead.

_You didn't see this one coming, did you, Lord Sidious?_

The doors opened. He strode coolly through them. Guards were standing to attention at either side of the interior of the doorway. Skywalker was standing by the window, apparently gazing out at the view. "Leave us," he snapped to the guards. They did so at once.

Skywalker turned to face him. The illuminators were on low, casting long shadows on the 

ceiling-high shelves stacked with thousands of dataslides. Sharply, Lyonides scanned that youthful face, seeing confidence, but no hint of a reason for his being there. "You have me intrigued, Skywalker," he admitted, walking around the U-shaped research stations grouped in the middle of the room. Stopping behind the carved, mellow-coloured desk at the very rear of the room, he raised his hands as if nonplussed. "What can possibly be so urgent that it necessitates a visit at this hour?"

Skywalker strolled to stand opposite him, leaving the desk between them. "A matter of extreme urgency, Premier, of course." The short bow he gave was belied by the merest hint of a sarcastic smile. "I wouldn't dare disturb your rest for anything less. If it helps, I believe our meeting will only be brief."

Because his hands were shaking, Lyonides sat on the moulded and plushly cushioned seat and folded them over his middle. Deliberately, he didn't invite his guest to sit in the identical chair opposite. He wasn't in a cordial mood. "Enlighten me then."

"Councillor Amidala has faced two assassination attempts in the last few days. A disturbing development, I'm sure you'll agree. I'm here to make sure that no … misunderstandings arise from my efforts to thwart her attackers."

_This was about Amidala. _Relaxing, Lyonides kept his expression and tone neutral. "I am aware of the councillor's troubles, and that they're being fully investigated. However, I'm not sure I understand you. What possible misunderstandings could you be referring to?"

"Oh, I don't know, false imprisonment, summary executions, unwise counter attacks. Things like that. Such errors in judgement can lead to unexpected rumours, and dangerous backlashes."

There was an incredulous pause.

"I'm not sure I like your insinuations." Lyonides mask of calm almost slipped. "Are you actually threatening me, Skywalker?" So much for relief. He kept his seat, but rage threatened to melt the layers he'd used to shroud his thoughts.

"I'm not insinuating, and you won't have to ask if I'm threatening you should the occasion arise—you'll know. A wise man would take it as a warning." Skywalker's cold smile got colder. "And heed it."

Lyonides' eyes bugged out. "I could have you arrested—"

"You could try, but your advisors would tell you not to attempt it. Even autocrats need support."

"Idols fall," he spat.

"As do dictatorships," returned Skywalker, silkily.

Something flared inside the blue eyes staring at him, bringing Lyonides back to himself with a jolt. Was that satisfaction at his rising emotions? He scurried to damp the rage, breathing deeply. He had to remind himself that, no matter the provocation, he couldn't afford a slip in control—the repercussions could be horrendous. It was also a timely reminder that, despite appearances, he wasn't facing an inexperienced boy. Vader had perpetuated horrors throughout the galaxy before his death.

"This is ridiculous, and so are your accusations—"

"Don't try my patience, Premier." Skywalker started to prowl, slowly pacing the length of the desk, never taking his eyes off Lyonides' face. "I think we can stop wasting each others time pretending that we don't know what the other has been doing recently. I'm fully aware that you know about my activities tonight—and that it isn't in your best interests to make it public."

It was only the latest in a series of recklessly bold moves. Made impotent by Sidious' demand, Lyonides could only seethe over the fact that he couldn't repudiate it. Remaining still was impossible. Lyonides rose, rounding the desk. Under the sleeves of his robe, he clenched fists hard enough that the knuckles were bloodless.

His nod was stiff. "I see: and what exactly are you hoping to achieve with this meeting?"

The gloves were off—if they'd ever been on.

Skywalker halted, crossing his arms. He made a commanding presence even to one used to command. "I don't live in your rarefied world. I don't need your support or your approval. You've seen to that with the isolation of the Outer Rim." The blue gaze continued to probe, searching. "However, I do want one thing. There are to be no more attacks on Councillor Amidala or her supporters."

"And what do I get in return?"

"I see no reason for our paths to cross again—unless you're putting people at risk—something I'm sure you would never do. I'm not interested in power or influence. You have nothing to fear from me … on that score."

There was more to this Lyonides was _sure_ of it. The subtle sarcasm in that last statement was chilling, and aggravating. Chilling, because Lyonides didn't know if he'd given anything away. Had Skywalker used his anger to somehow glimpse the truth of the past, and suspect a new deal? _He didn't know_. Sheer, unadulterated loathing for fear and uncertainty added to the still simmering temper.

Skywalker seemed to take his silence as compliance. Inclining his head, he said, "I'm satisfied that we've covered all of the highpoints. Enjoy the rest of your night, Premier."

With that, he turned to go. Lyonides literally saw red at the insult. All other concerns vanished. A vein throbbed in his temple. Did this piece of core-slime dare think that the Premier of Junga Roth could be so easily dismissed—like a minion? Like someone who was a nobody—nothing more than smuggler scum born of a cantina rat? Perhaps in life, but _not_ in death. Not for a long, long time; and the price had been paid for with blood and soul.

The heat of fury seared his mind. It was intolerable.

Skywalker was almost at the door when Lyonides snapped out. "The way I hear it, you weren't always so _disinterested_, shall we say, in power."

The second he said it, he knew it had been a terrible mistake. Skywalker whirled back to face him, stormy eyes laser-sharp under lowered brows. Pain streaked across Lyonides' forehead for a fraction of a second. Anger evaporated like mist. He tried to recover by saying, "The members of the Jedi Order were powerful once, were they not?"

The momentary tightness and the flicker of disquiet he saw in Skywalker's face did little to mollify Lyonides, especially when it was followed up with a terse, "You hear correctly. Consider yourself lucky that I'm a reformed man. I'll leave you to get back to your 

companion now that we _fully_ understand one another."

ooo

Back in his apartment, Lyonides curtly dismissed the woman lounging in his bed. Gods knew how Skywalker had known there was one. Probably another Jedi trick. He took some small measure of comfort from her hurried, stumbling retreat from his presence. No sooner had she gone and the security locks engaged at his command, when a blue image appeared above his personal holoprojector. _Sidious_. Again he had to fight the urge to go down on bended knee when he stepped on the accompanying transmission grid.

"Skywalker just paid me a visit," he said without preamble.

"I sensed as much. To what purpose?"

"On the surface, to ensure that there are no more attempts on Councillor Amidala's life. Obviously, he suspects me and wanted to make it clear that he would tolerate no more. He also admitted to freeing the Wookiee."

"Bold of him."

"I thought so." Lyonides couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his reply.

"But you don't think that was the sole reason for his visit?"

"He got me out of bed at three am. I doubt it was merely to ensure that we wouldn't be overheard."

"He was baiting you. Attacking when an enemy least expected it was a forte of his. Clever." Sidious actually chuckled. "For all of his faults, Vader did become accomplished at manipulating minds with emotion. He could goad an opponent into unwittingly revealing their deepest secrets if they weren't sufficiently shielded. I admit, it came in useful more than once."

There was a pause.

"I trust that you didn't let yourself become goaded?"

Lyonides prayed that his flush didn't show on the holotransmission. "No."

"Good. Good. I doubt he would have probed too deeply. One, you would have felt it, such invasions are detectable, and, secondly, if he is truly renouncing the dark side, he would be loathe to dip too deeply into that particular well of knowledge." Sidious gave another dry cackle. "Fool. Such delicacies will only assist in his undoing—again."

"Do you still insist that I do nothing?" It was a rhetorical question, born of frustration.

"You won't need to, my friend. I think it's about time that Skywalker faced a different type of Narzgh, a skilled foe rather than the mindless drones he's fought so far."

"I don't understand."

"You will. Meet another, worthier, apprentice of mine." A second, taller, cloaked figure joined Sidious' image. "Darth Maul."

ooo  


The forkful of spiceloaf didn't go down any easier than its predecessors. Anakin needed a sip of water to help it down. He heartily wished he'd gone for the nutrifruit porridge or even the protein shake. Unfortunately, he hadn't been paying much attention when May Tal was taking the order and picked the first offering.

Put out by his lack of attention, the comely Twi'lek waitress had dumped the bowl in front of him and flounced off to other, more appreciative customers. She had a lot of choice. Breakfast at Caritas was available for both residents and non-residents. As the food was cheap and edible, business was booming. It also helped that there were no licensing laws in the Outer Rim. Some were already getting started on topping up their twenty-four hour drunk. The only difference that Anakin could see between day and night was the lack of torturous singing.

With a grunt as greeting, Sal took a spare seat at the same table. Without being asked, May Tal came over with his personal hang-over cure—a schloopy, oatmeal-coloured mess in a tall cup.

"Alright, I did what you asked—getting out of bed at an unnatural hour to do so—and now it's my turn." Half the contents disappeared in one long draught. Bleary-eyed, Sal asked, "How did it go with Lyonides last night?"

"It went. What did you find out?"

"Nuh uh." Shaking his head, Sal waved a hand in a roll. "You owe me so you have to expand on that. Something got you all fired up. Spill."

Frustrated, Anakin stared at the man he was bizarrely coming to think of as a friend, and realised he wasn't going to get out of giving an explanation. "We talked. He didn't explicitly admit to arranging a bounty on Padmé's head, but we reached an agreement, whereby he would stop gunning for her so that I wouldn't start gunning for him."

Sal's lips twitched. "I wish I'd been there. It sounds like it went okay." The smile turned into a scowl. "So, what in all Chaos was the rush for this morning? You looked like you'd gotten your ass whupped by a baby Ewok or something."

"Or something." Anakin picked up his water, took a sip, then gazed into the cup as if it held all the answers. "I shouldn't have gone there. It was stupid, impulsive and selfish." He wracked his brains for a way to explain the self-recriminations that had been haunting him since. "I went for the wrong reasons. I was angry and I gave into it." He took another sip, feeling it drip past a closed throat. "That was wrong."

_Understatement_, a voice in his head jeered. _Worse, you enjoyed it—until Lyonides turned around and stung you back._

Pulling a face, Sal was dismissive. "Is that all? You got ticked off, acted on it and now you're all guilt-ridden? Get real." He wagged a finger in Anakin's direction. "Y'know, if you're not careful, you're gonna come off sounding like one of those temple morons. Anger is a negative emotion, yadda yadda yadda. Who cares? You got the job done."

The spiceloaf was suddenly making him nauseous. Anakin pushed the plate away so he wouldn't have to smell it. "I care. I can't afford anger."

He couldn't say the rest, but he thought it. _I care that I let Vader out. I have no excuse. Padmé would be the first to condemn such a thing. Is that why I didn't tell her what I was planning?_

"If you say so, but if you start hauling around one of those stinking incense things, I may have to shoot you."

"I'll bear that in mind."

"You do that. Oh, and by the way, I'm not buying it. Guilt didn't have you hauling my ass out of bed this morning just so I could wake up every other lush in this skyforsaken town. What aren't you telling me?"

"Lyonides is hiding something." Anakin forestalled the next question. "I don't know what it is, but it's scaring him. That's another reason why I know I went about it all wrong. I keep thinking that if I'd approached him in a less confrontational manner, I might have been able to get him to confide in me."

"How can you know he's hiding something—never mind, is this Jedi mumbo-jumbo?"

Anakin didn't bother taking exception to the Force being described in such a way. "Force-sensitives can read emotions and catch stray thoughts, even sense atmospheres in a way that a normal person can't. It helps a Jedi decide on the most appropriate tactic to take to diffuse a situation."

_The Sith use it too, and don't try to kid yourself, you didn't use the power like a Jedi. You goaded him, drawing on Lyonides anger so that you could sift through what he couldn't hide. Except, at the end, he scored a big point He knows you're Vader._

That last suspicion, among other things, had made sleep impossible.

"Yeah, whatever." Irritably, Sal waved away Jedi power as if it were a pesky bug. "I still say you did the right thing. Anyway, I can't tell you what dirty laundry Lyonides is hiding, but here's something to turn that frown upside down. I've found a guy who might be able to get you in to see the rain barrier."

That welcome titbit of information stopped Anakin from dwelling on his most recent mistakes, and the ice in his gut. "When?"

Sal gave a satisfied smirk. "Today." Abruptly, the smirk morphed into a grimace. "At the damned temple of all places. Zarc's so paranoid, he hardly goes anywhere else these days—you ask me, a guy's gotta be sick in the head to hang around there. Not that that should be a problem for you. You and crazy seem to go hand-in-hand."

It was too good an opportunity to miss. "I don't care where I have to meet him. I'm used to temples."

"Not this temple you're not." Sal finished his 'tonic' and jerked his head at the entrance. "Brace yourself, kid. Here's your lady friend."

Anakin turned his head. Blue eyes met brown and locked. There was a blush staining Padmé's cheeks and the cut from her battle with the Terraviper was fading. She'd managed to coil up her hair again. Without conscious thought, he got to his feet, waiting for her to come to him. Just seeing her blanked his mind. She stopped a few steps away with Freyrr behind her.

The words slipped out. "You look beautiful."

Her flush deepened. Slim fingers plucked at the navy cloak she'd worn the day before, but she didn't look away. "Thank you, but I doubt it. I've give anything for a change of clothes. I must look like something a bantha dragged in."

"You're wrong. Looking at you, nobody would believe that you've been through the ordeals that you have over the last day."

It might as well have just been the two of them.

Her smile bloomed. "Now you're just being gallant." One hand rose as if she might reach out and touch him, and then stopped short. A frown tugged at her brows. "You look tired, though. Didn't you sleep well?"

Anakin felt an ache in his chest, wishing that she hadn't stopped herself. He craved her touch. "I'm fine."

Sal chose that moment to chime in, "Don't you believe it, Councillor. I woke up at dawn to see him sitting on the floor, zoned out with his legs crossed. He scared the crap out outta me until I got the gunk out of my eyes and saw who it was." Tipping back his chair, Sal shook his head, sliding Anakin a meaningful look. "Meditating—personally, I'd rather be catching some zee's myself."

"I slept," Anakin countered, scowling.

"Yeah. How much?" Sal shot back. "Even your bags have got bags."

With a glare that promised repercussions, Anakin asked, pointedly, "What time are we meeting this Zarc?"

Sal's grin was all teeth. "This morning, the earlier the better."

"You're going somewhere?" asked Padmé, glancing between them, obviously picking up the vibes.

"Sal knows someone who may be able to smuggle me in to see the rain barrier. I think it's worth my while to check it out—"

"Speaking of checking stuff out," said Lorne airily, materialising behind them and waving a flimsiplast sheet enthusiastically. "I've got a handle on some bargain-basement fixer-uppers. You said it was important, so I didn't quibble. Actually, I didn't have to—they're cheap as dirt—probably for a good reason." He slapped a hand on Anakin's shoulder. "But, I reckon a certain mechanical genius might be able to get them fly-worthy."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Anakin took the proffered sheet. On it an address was written in a tellingly flamboyant style.

"You've been busy," reflected Padmé, a question in her eyes.

"I want to make some progress."

"I'm getting that. Is there a reason for the sudden rush?"

He debated what to tell her—and decided he had to tell her all of it. "I saw Lyonides last night. Something is coming, Padmé. I can feel it."

ooo

Sal hadn't been wrong about the Temple of Atonement being like no other Anakin had ever visited. A few minutes inside it was all it took for him to conclude that it was more like a tomb than a place of spiritual enhancement. From what he'd seen of the entrance, 

main hall and narrow, low-ceilinged corridors, there was no colour or adornment of any kind. Most strange of all, he could discern no evidence of any deity or mythology being involved. Walking though it was like being herded down a series of grey, ferracrete animal pens. Chanting devotees shuffled from place to place with their cloak hoods up, looking determinedly at the floor. Natural light was limited to that provided by windows that were nothing more than slits near the ceilings. Incense lay cloyingly thick, dragging at the back of the throat with every breath.

Padmé, her cloak hood duly up to cover her face, must have guessed some of his thoughts, explaining, "The people here believe that the only way to redemption is through committing yourself completely to achieving it by constant contemplation. Your focus is meant to be absolute, and distractions of any kind are eliminated—which is why it's so dire and grim in here. It's a form of self-sacrifice."

"It's completely wacked, is what it is," hissed Sal from Anakin's other side. "This place gives me the creeps. I'm just glad were gonna miss the post-lunch-whipping-gala."

Padmé stayed silent, although she did stiffen.

Anakin shot Sal a look. "Explain?"

"Self flagellation," was the grim reply. "The so-called purging of mid-deeds through ripping the skin off your back—it's a big draw for the masochistic crowd."

Anakin's disgust was flavoured by pity, and a desire not to linger. "Let's not do lunch."

"I hear that."

"Where will we find this Zarc?" asked Padmé.

"He got promoted to having his own private room a few months ago. He should be there. Although, I hear he may be losing it if he gets caught slipping out for k'lym rum one more time."

They were in luck. Zarc was exactly where he was supposed to be. He was also lying naked on his front, fast asleep and snoring. The room contained nothing else except for the man and the cot. Freyrr's cell the night before had been considerably plusher. As for Zarc, he was without doubt, the skinniest human Anakin had ever seen. The single plus point was that there was no sickly stench of incense to assault the nose here, only stale sweat and even staler alcohol.

In deference to the man's state of undress, Padmé whirled to face the wall with a muffled exclamation. Exasperated, Sal rolled his eyes and dropped his own cloak over the exposed buttocks and thighs—avoiding chafing the raw marks visible on the pale, bony back.

The snores didn't even change rhythm.

This was their source on the ultimate piece of protective technology in Junga Roth? Anakin felt his heart sink with the suspicion that they were wasting their time. Arms folded, he raised a brow at Sal. Shrugging, the older man clapped his hands once by the loudly snoring head. "Wake up! Zarc, you ass. You've got visitors."

Zarc Wess woke up with a snort and rolled off the cot in a tangle of limbs and cloak. An ignoble heap on the floor, he raised a trembling, not-so-clean hand and scrubbed his face. A steam of cuss words filtered through the splayed fingers before bloodshot brown eyes squinted at the trio. "Who the kriff are you?"

Hunkering down, Sal snapped his fingers in front of the man's scowling face. "Get it together, Zarc, We're here to talk about your day job, remember?"

What followed was another round of inventively choice language that, in essence, told them to go away.

Before Anakin could do more than stiffen, Padmé hunkered down next to a scowling Sal. "Master Wess, we truly need your help or we wouldn't be here. Please don't send us away."

ooo

Padmé's earnest plea worked.

Half an hour later found them in a diner tucked away in a side-street within a kilometre of the temple. Anakin and Padmé were on one side of the booth, leaving Sal next to his malodorous friend. Zarc, cleaner and dressed, was tucking into a heaped plate of potato rice and an unidentifiable meat stew.

"Thanks. You don't get grub like this at the temple," he confessed with a grin between mouthfuls.

Anakin believed him. The man ate the diner's dubious fare with the gusto of a starving, rabid wamp rat.

The lack of table manners wasn't the only disconcerting element to Zarc. His manic grin was so wide it seemed to take up the whole of his gaunt face. Somewhere between thirty five and forty five years old, his hair was cut so short it was little more than stubble on his small, round head. He was also of a jittery disposition with a tendency for dizzying mood-swings. Every move of the fork to his mouth appeared jerky and uncoordinated. Merely sitting at a table, the pint-sized human seemed to vibrate with nervous energy.

Putting it mildly, Anakin found him uncomfortable character to be around. There was something _wrong_ about him. "The rain barrier?" he prompted.

"What about it?"

"What can you tell me about it?"

"Are you kidding?" Zarc looked at Sal. "He's joking, right?" He didn't give Sal a chance to answer and leaned forward to ensure he had Anakin's full attention. "Look, pal, I've worked on that barrier ever since the Narzgh gave it a right going over last time." A grimy thumb stabbed his chest. "In point of fact, I was one of the techs that fixed it."

Next to the agitated man, Sal spread his hands. "So, what's the problem; just tell us about it."

Sunken brown eyes widened. "You got a couple'a days to spare or something? 'Cause I don't."

"Just give me a general summary to start off with," conceded Anakin, practising patience. "How does it work?"

"Energy," said Zarc around another mouthful of stew. "The barrier is pure energy. It works like your typical deflector shield but on a much, much more intricate scale. Whoever built it was a bona-fide, certified-in-stone genius." He winked at Padmé. "I'd give my left nut for those kinds of brains."

"I thought that deflector shields deflected laser cannons and things like that," said Sal, as cynical as ever. "There's a big difference between a cannon bolt and blasted raindrop—nothing's that sensitive."

Zarc waggled the fork in front of Sal's nose, clearly affronted. "That's were you're wrong—and what the hell do you know about it, eh? That barrier is a kriffing work of art is what it is. When that beauty isn't needed, it shuts down—then, when the sensors pick up rain again—ping! Its back up and doing what it does best, protecting us from the Narzgh." Dramatically, he snatched up his cup of caf and saluted the distant object of his admiration.

"It sounds like you enjoyed your work," commented Padmé, softly.

Finished eating, Zarc belched, then shrugged. "If you can't be a genius, the next best thing is to work on a piece of genius."

Padmé nodded agreeably. "That makes sense except for one thing, why does a man who is so content with his work feel the need to whip himself daily and then drink himself into a stupor on a nightly basis? I accessed your file before we came to see you," she admitted, sliding Anakin an unrepentant glance for withholding the information. "You didn't start feeling the need for serious redemption until about twenty years ago and you've been going downhill ever since. What happened, Master Wess?"

Zarc went sheet-white. The jitters that had disappeared while he talked about his life's work returned ten-fold. All bravado was gone. He couldn't meet any of their eyes. "We all need to redeem. That's why we're all stuck here in this dung-hole and not up there la-dee-da'ing with angels." His chin jerk was towards the ceiling, the common gesture to indicate the first world. "Maybe, after ninety years I realised time was ticking on?"

The reasoning sounded defensive, rehearsed and rang false.

Anakin held his breath. Padmé, as astute as ever, was on to something, he could _feel_ it. He held his tongue and warned Sal with a sharp look to do likewise.

"You were one of the survivors from the cataclysm?" she asked, gentle again.

Zarc nodded, his mood deflating even further. His Adam's apple bobbed and his gaze seemed to turn inwards, sinking bruised eyes further into the flesh. "I still have dreams about it, y'know. The kind of dreams that have you screaming yourself hoarse until your throat feels like its bleeding … choking you. It doesn't drown out the other screams, though—nothing does. It got worse when I found out the truth. That's when I started to drink—I started to hear 'em in my head even when I wasn't sleeping." His hands came up to cover his ears, as if he could still hear them. "Bastards won't stop haunting me—not then and not now."

The tension at the table turned palpable. Anakin kept himself completely still, willing that nothing happen to muzzle this new, confessional mood.

Visibly wrung with pity, Padmé reached out, resting her hand over one of Zarc's shaking ones. "Tell us about it. You'll feel better."

Tears reddened Zarc's eyes even further: bloody windows to the soul. "I can't," he whispered hoarsely, narrow shoulders hunching. If possible, he appeared smaller and more defenceless. "They'll kill me, and you—all of you. I'm tired of bloody death."

"And yet you must have guessed what we would want to talk about when you agreed to see us," Padmé argued. "I think that deep down a part of you _needs_ to tell someone and _that's_ why you agreed. Maybe if you help us the screams will stop. Hasn't it eaten at you long enough?"

In another of his shockingly swift mood changes, Zarc's tears dried. His hand turned to grip Padmé's in turn. "You understand, don't you? I can see it." That notion seemed to energise him. There was a fervent, unstable blaze in his eyes now. Anakin and Sal might as well have not been there. His attention was solely on Padmé. He gave a bark of excitable laughter. "Oh yeah. Oh yeah. This is making sense now. I've been waiting for someone like you—and I didn't even kriffin' know it."

ooo

Back in a now closed Caritas, there was a tense silence as Anakin slotted the datachip Zarc had given them into Ceetee's datadrive. The droid stayed docile until his holoprojector flickered into life, then gave an excited series of beeps.

The first image was of a reactor generator circled by numerous, floating sensors. It looked like a weird-shaped planet circled by satellites. The next was a jumble of components, wiring and complex circuitry. The next was a dizzying array of symbols. The next a series of nightmarish mathematical calculations. More followed.

"Ceetee, slow it down," instructed Anakin. "Don't go through them so fast."

"O-kay," said Lorne, "Technophobe here. What am I looking at?"

"It looks like detailed technical specifications for the rain barrier," answered Padmé, hesitantly though.

Staring intently at more formulas an obedient Ceetee had left up, Anakin raked a hand through his hair, admitting, "This is going to take me a while to get my head around."

"Rather you than me." Giving a delicate shudder, Lorne pushed away from the table he'd been leaning against. "I'll leave you to it and get ready to open in—" he looked at his watch, "—six hours time."

Just then, there was a clatter of footsteps on the stairs. The doors swung open to admit Freyrr with Sal following behind her. The Wookiee looked agitated and her roars and growls didn't sound any happier.

Padmé translated. "It's started to rain." Adding, "Thank the stars it's still daytime."

"Don't pin your hopes on that, Councillor," advised Sal, grimly. Raindrops peppered his shoulders and short, wiry hair. "It looks set to stay. Sand or no sand, the utility droids don't stand a chance of keeping on top of it. If I was a gambling man, I'd bet that by nightfall the whole of the Outer Rim is going to be water-logged. I figure we're in for an interesting night."

Everyone turned to Anakin. Hiding his own anxiety, he shrugged. "It looks like it might be time to catch ourselves a Narzgh."

ooo

Anakin had taken sanctuary in Lorne's apartment to do a more through study of the specifications while they waited for nightfall. The sheer visual noise of colour, texture and shapes that the Pylean called décor was distracting, but at least he could ignore it. Sal's apartment, and his, was too small, even if Ceetee could have climbed four flights of stairs, considering there was no elevator. There was another reason though. He was hiding from Padmé. The attempt failed.

In the middle of taking handwritten notes at Lorne's impressive wooden desk, the door he'd code-locked swished open and Padmé strode inside. In the few hours since he'd last seen her, she'd changed into a bodysuit that bore an uncanny resemblance to the Naboo military uniform.

She didn't waste time with a greeting, snapping out, "I don't like it."

Oblivious of the tension, Ceetee whistled a welcome, his dome swivelling to take in the new arrival, distorting the image the little droid had been transmitting.

Anakin's brief, resigned glance took in a flushed, determined face and glittering brown eyes. Whether he wanted to or not, he had no choice but to ask, "Don't like what?"

The desk butted up to the wall, giving him no barrier. Stopping close enough to touch, she planted one hand on her hip and waved the other jerkily towards the ceiling. "This idea of the rest of us flying up to safety in a ship while you're down here fighting and risking your life. It's not right. You shouldn't be alone."

Anakin mentally cursed. This was exactly the conversation he'd been hoping to avoid. After sucking in a slow breath, he tried reason. "Have you considered that I'll be able to concentrate better knowing that you're safe?"

It was the wrong thing to say. Her eyes shot sparks. "I can look after myself. I've been doing it for twenty three years."

Twenty three years. The same length of time since he'd killed her. Pain bloomed and radiated at the reminder. He got to his feet and had to swallow to speak. "I know that I don't have the right to protect you anymore. But that doesn't stop the instinct to try—I can't change _that_ anymore than I can stop breathing." Staring down into her upturned face, he willed her to understand and accept. "I need to know that you're safe on the Limidian, Padmé."

She didn't seem to hear him, or didn't want to listen. "Freyrr and I have a small arsenal of weapons. I could use a rifle from one of the midlevel roofs. I'd be safe enough. Surely the more who fight the bet—"

The idea terrified him. He actually grabbed her upper arms as if to shake her. "No."

"Don't tell me no, Anakin. I don't take orders from you. I'm not one of your stormtroopers."

There was a stunned, painful pause. The atmosphere was thick enough to slide a blade through. Silently, slowly, Anakin dropped his hands.

When he went to turn away, she snagged his hand, tugging him back to face her. Remorse had replaced the wrath on her face. "I'm sorry, that was a low blow. I didn't mean it."

"I can't fight if I'm worrying about you. If you really want to help me then do as I ask. Please! Don't fight me on this. If you want me to beg, then I'll beg." He meant it.

"Of course, I don't want you to beg." Exhaustion seemed to drop over her, smothering the agitation. Padmé wrapped her arms around her middle, admitting hoarsely, "I hate this. It was bad enough before, but it's so much harder when you're right in the thick of it. I don't want to run and hide. It's not like I can take the fight to the council anymore and delude myself that I'm helping that way. I despise being useless, and that's what you're asking me to be." Now it was her turn to silently beg for understanding. "Anakin, you're asking a lot—maybe too much."

"Perhaps, but I'm asking it anyway." She was close enough that he could smell the perfume of her skin with every inhalation. The scent made his head spin. Nothing could have induced him to step away from the torment, though. Somehow his hands ended up smoothing up and down her arms, offering comfort. "And, you're not useless—far from it. We wouldn't have the plans for the rain barrier if it wasn't for you. You're an incredible asset."

_And so very, very precious_. That she wanted to fight at his side touched him every bit as much as it terrified him. Despite their fight, his heart swelled with love for her, straining his control. The effort it took not to blurt out his feelings left him shaking like a callow boy. _You're my wife. Nothing else matters to me like you do_.

Oblivious to the storm of emotion she was wreaking in him, Padmé shook her head, smiling weakly. "Not that much of an asset. I can't decipher the plans like you can." The tiny smile disappeared. "We need you. What if—"

When she stopped dead, he probed, feeling strangely breathless. "What if, what?"

"What if tonight is the night that they overwhelm you?" she said, starkly, shakily. "You're only one man, no matter how strong in the Force and skilled with a lightsaber. How am I—we supposed to carry on?"

Things left unsaid and unacknowledged, shivered between them. A part of Anakin was aware that something had changed between them, but he was incapable of figuring it out right then.

The tears glazing her eyes were a knife to his gut. He couldn't bear to see her cry. Thoughtlessly, he cupped one smooth cheek in a palm, cradling her face. "I won't let them overwhelm me. When it's over, I'll still be standing. I promise."

He made the promise because she seemed to need it, and he'd keep it for the same reason. If she needed him, he would be there. It was as simple as that.

A single tear slipped free, sliding down to wet his thumb. "I want to believe that—"

It wasn't planned. There was no conscious thought involved in the move at all.

Instinct and pure need overrode everything else. His fingers slipped to her jaw and tightened, then he was pulling her in and closing the gap too.

When their lips met, hers opened under his like petals to the sun. Whatever self-control he may have had left vanished. Need twisted viciously and he swept roughly inside. The taste of her went straight to his head, enflaming him. Gasping breaths mingled while tongues melded and mated. The rake of her fingers through his hair, clutching him closer, made him quake, and burn. Like a flame to starship fuel the kiss turned torrid.

TBC

Note (5) The kiss was so much fun to write and I hope you got a kick out of it too. However, I don't want anyone getting the wrong idea and then getting disappointed. This is just a crack in the wall so to speak--rather than the wall tumbling down (if that makes any sense whatsoever :))


	11. Chapter 11

NOTES:

(1) Credit to Wookieepedia for info on place names, lightsaber styles and GFFA sports.  
(2) Also, I've interpreted one of the GFFA sports in a way that uses an item very similar to the 'bludger' of the HPverse. You'll know what I mean when you come across it.  
(3) Thanks to **YellowDart** for the beta!  
(4) Signed reviews should have all received a reply. Anon is below:

**cwbasset** – Thank you for such a truly wonderful review. I'm tickled pink that the story is hooking you so much that rereading offers fresh enjoyment. That is such an incredible compliment- Thank you!

(5) Lastly, (I promise) thank you to all of my readers for the continuing support. This chapter was a swine to write and I hope to heck it doesn't come across that way.

**Chapter Eleven**

Pain erupted in Anakin's left thigh.

Being bisected hadn't stopped one of the Narzgh from lunging at him and burying its talons into flesh and muscle. Grunting in pain, rivulets of rain running down his face and almost blinding him, Anakin reversed his grip on his lightsaber and brought it arcing dangerously close to his body. The reckless move served a dual purpose; slicing off half of a scorch-blackened face microseconds before its fangs would have pierced his flesh too, as well as severing the supernaturally strong hand at the wrist.

That was too close, he thought, sidestepping the slumping corpse. He was lucky it had been the last of that particular cadre of demons. He also knew it was his own fault. He'd let his guard down and it wasn't the first time. He had too many distractions rattling around his head, and he couldn't get them out. Rather than submit himself to the head-spinning pain he knew he'd suffer when taking out the claws, Anakin chose to let his senses settle first, leaning dizzily against a ferrocrete wall. He let his eyes close, relying on his senses and the Force to warn him of danger. He was tired, as well as distracted, and both could get him killed. He'd covered several kilometres of the Outer Rim already tonight. Instead of the usual vicious mob, the Narzgh were ambushing him in smaller numbers, then scattering and forcing him to give chase. If this was a new strategy for deliberately wearing him down, it was working.

The raid was winding down, but it wasn't _finished_. Every time he thought that it must be coming to an end, he'd find turn around and find more Narzgh, and the urgent blare of the city's warning siren hadn't yet gone silent.

Was it over _now_? He doubted it.

More were closing in. He could _feel_ them.

They had to be tracking him, and Anakin wished he knew how.

Behind him stood the dull, rusted bronze tower that had once been the Intercity Exchange library, now serving as a filthy squat for the meanest, most desperate of the city's citizens. Across the street was yet more evidence of better days, a one-time civic building with stone steps leading up from the street. In between lay a fallen, eroded skywalk, left to lie and rot in the rain and sewage—like everything else.

_Force!_ He'd had enough. He was sick of it. Sick and _tired_ of it. Sick of fighting mindless malevolence and hearing the screams of victims he knew he didn't stand a chance of reaching in time. He could tune out everything else, but his ears were ringing with those screams.

He wanted peace and quiet to _think_. He wanted to tell Padmé he was sorry. He wanted to take back the kiss that had put such shock and horror in her eyes. Kriff! You'd think he'd hit her instead of given into his feelings and kissed her.

He also wanted to know what in Chaos was going on.

A mirthless smile curved his lips at his train of thoughts. He'd always wanted too many things—that was yet another part of the reason why he'd failed as a Jedi.

Stopping is out of the question, he told himself. Not until the Narzgh stopped coming, and not until he found out why, tonight, he'd sensed something that chilled the marrow in his bones.

It wasn't the eyeless faces stretched into monstrous howls—bloody, ruined mouths gaping wide—that made the breath freeze in his lungs: it was the darkness that seemed to have come along for the ride. Tonight, the dark side of the Force, an old friend and a new foe, was boiling with hatred and spreading icy tendrils throughout the Outer Rim. It had been barely noticeable at first, a tickle of warning at the back of his neck—not so now. Sometime during the night, it had fully revealed itself, taunting him and making him wonder if he'd been blind to it before. He'd tried and failed to rake through that dark miasma to trace it to its source, but the shroud was too thick and widespread. Fed by the terror of millions, it was getting noticeably stronger by the hour. Every scream made the dark currents churn harder, swirling tighter.

It unnerved him. It also slashed at his confidence. His promise to Padmé seemed to mock him too. Fate was a concept that he didn't much consider, but tonight, he wondered if he'd tempted it once too often. His instincts were screaming a warning that something catastrophic was about to happen, or be unleashed.

If he was right, he didn't know if he could hold back whatever _it_ was alone.

Even drawing on Force-strength to fuel him, he was tiring. This was his second battle in as many days with little rest between. The raid had already lasted for most of the night, and it felt like days. Weariness dragged at the edges of his mind, sapping his will. His shoulders were on fire with the constant hacking and slashing. The pain in his thigh had settled down to a dull, nagging throb that didn't look to be easing any time soon. The rain only added to the misery, drumming down, pummelling the gory litter of savage battle.

A battle that was about to recommence.

A dozen meters away, scuttling shadows slunk closer, hoping to catch him off-guard. He let them think it. Some of the Narzgh had scaled the walls of nearby buildings, dropping down when forced into the relative open, loping towards the shattered skywalk. The pallid moonlight that they needed to provide the necessary reflection revealed the oozing, open wounds visible on the charred skin. Ironically, Anakin was reminded of the city's temple devotees.

He could smell their putrid stench now. It was time to act.

Gritting his teeth against the expected fresh wave of agony, Anakin yanked out the claws and hurled the severed hand at the face of an oncoming, charging Narzgh. It hit the creature squarely in the face. Snarling, the demon barely recoiled, but the moment of distraction was enough for Anakin to charge forward himself and decapitate it.

The others came on, undeterred. He fought them. Down to two, he cursed when, true to their new tactic, they went into a snarling retreat, forcing him to go after them. A burst of blaster fire from close by made his heart stutter with a rush of fear for whoever was firing that weapon. It was yet another distraction. He'd heard it on and off all night, sometimes in the distance, and sometimes close-by.

It wasn't Padmé, he told himself. It couldn't be. She was safe with the others in the Limidian. She'd agreed to go up in the ship and Sal had _sworn_ he'd keep her safe.

He had to believe that.

He forced himself to clear his mind and focus. _You have a job to do. Get on with it. You'll see Padmé later._

The reminder was timely. Tonight, he had a new objective—to capture a Narzgh alive—and he still hadn't figured out a way of incapacitating one without killing it. Slicing off all limbs only seemed to make it prey for its own kind.

These two he was chasing might be his last chance.

_So don't foul it up_.

He didn't intend to.

The pursuit took him into what had once been a section of the city offering more general leisure facilities than Whores Hole. Signs designed to draw in custom hung dejected and the few holoposters still working were too damaged to do more than feebly flicker. The evidence of waste and crumbling decay was even more advanced here. All commercial entities had moved into the Core decades ago, making anything this district could offer defunct, except as more soulless space for the desperate to starve, hide and die inside. Even now he could feel their misery and fear ooze out of the vein-like cracks in the building walls. Directly ahead was a huge, domed building that dominated the immediate cityscape. A ramp led up to a doorway big enough to fly an imperial gunship through.

At the street-level end of the ramp, the rain had accumulated into a body of water several meters in length and width. The two Narzgh he'd pursued here were crouched around the edge, making no move to rush him or evade. This _waiting_ was different behaviour again. Tense, wary, Anakin approached, suspecting a trap, but unable to detect any other Narzgh close enough to be a threat. It didn't take a genius to guess that the water was the key—it always was with these things.

Ahead of him, the Narzgh still hadn't moved and didn't react when he reactivated his lightsaber. Anakin had the unpleasant idea that what, or who, they were waiting for was the very same thing that had his instincts clamouring.

He ran through scenarios for keeping one alive in his head as he closed the distance. Ten metres. Six metres. Four metres.

That was as close as he got before the water began to whip and churn. He didn't need to reach out with his mind for clues. It wasn't so much a disturbance in the Force as a full body slam. Anakin had to stop himself from recoiling from it. Stunned, he was almost certain he recognised the poisonous presence. Shock blanked his mind but for one single thought.

_No! It couldn't be him, could it?_

Unfortunately, the answer his numb brain came back with was, why not? Hadn't he been expecting to meet a lightsaber-wielding Narzgh before long? Why not one he knew?

Mesmerised despite himself, Anakin watched the robed figure form and emerge. Water cascaded off the bulky frame as if rushing to escape. Every shred of darkness seemed to converge over the newly arrived Narzgh, making the stormy night appear washed-out and placid in comparison. Having done their bit in luring him here, the other Narzgh scattered like whipped dogs when a gloved hand reached up to pull back the concealing hood.

Seeing the face revealed, Anakin's hand tightened convulsively on the hilt of his lightsaber. Suspicions sparked in his mind—far too many and too devastating to contemplate now. Staring, he sucked in a slow, steadying breath.

_Darth Maul_.

He was still recognisable. He was blackened to a large extent, but enough of the distinctive red skin and black tattoos had survived the horrors of the third world. The burning ochre and crimson eyes remained too—they glared their hatred and satisfaction. The Force crackled with it.

Ignoring the departing demons, Anakin kept all of his attention for the newcomer. He knew he'd need it. This was no mere mindless wreck of a being twisted into an abomination. After all, the Zabrak had been an abomination before death. Exhaustion fled. Physical aches were wilfully blocked. Bone deep enmity was harder to ignore. So was the knowledge that the root of that enmity lay back much further than a duel on Kalakar Six. Spectres from the past hovered at the edge of his consciousness. _Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan. And Sidious_

"Maul," Anakin acknowledged, lightly, although he felt anything but calm. "You have a bad habit of turning up where you're not supposed to be." Tipping his head, he appeared to consider the dead Sith. "I'll have to cure you of that."

Smiling coldly, Maul took the steps he needed to reach drier ground, not towards Anakin, but onto the permacrete ramp behind him, leaving the water between them. "Courageous talk, _Jedi_, but tell me do you still hate yourself enough to defeat me?"

The title of _Jedi_ was meant as an insult. Their last encounter had been as Sith on Sith—violent, brutal, destructive and murderous. Anakin chose not to acknowledge the gibe. He quirked a brow. "_Again_, you mean?"

Instead of answering, Maul dropped his outer robe off his shoulders and motioned with the fingers of one gloved hand—a mocking invitation. In the other, he activated his double-bladed lightsaber.

_Snap-hiss_. _Snap-hiss_. Blood- red plasma pulsed and blazed.

Adrenaline surged, shooting hotly through Anakin's system. He leapt into the air with his own blue blade shining brightly. Blue and red clashed with the opening strike. Maul blocked with his upper right 'saber and then, swift as a snake, attacked with the lower left. Parrying, Anakin went on a counter-offensive. Speed and immersion in the Force was essential. His world narrowed to this pitted platform only—to this fight. As Vader, Anakin had continued to favour the aggressive, dominant style of Form V _Djem So_ he'd mastered as a Jedi, only transforming it to suit his distinctive needs by incorporating elements from other forms. Now, Anakin used this versatility to keep Maul on the defensive. Even without tapping into Force-rage, he pushed the Narzgh all the way up the ramp with ever swifter, brutal power strokes.

Driven back by the sheer kinetic energy of Anakin's assault, Maul's ruined face twisted with virulent hate as he parried and retreated. Finally, framed in the broken doorway at the top of the ramp, he executed a body-spin, at the same time deflecting Anakin's strike before it could cleave his head in two. Smoothly, he followed up with a snap-kick to the chin that sent Anakin staggering backwards. The move left an opening. Only, he didn't press his advantage. Instead, Maul gave a feral grin, turned and disappeared inside the dome.

Infuriated, Anakin shook his head to clear it of the ringing from the blow, and followed. Resolve hardened his heart and his expression, turning both to stone. _So Maul wanted to play games, did he?_

ooo

Grinding out a curse, Sal Trent manoeuvred the freighter so that it scraped between two jutting spires—just. He was drenched with sweat, and seriously pissed. Still wrestling with the controls, he spared his co-pilot a glare. "Can I just point out that this ship isn't built for street fighting?" he ground out.

"Don't look at me. It wasn't my idea to hang out of a basket under the belly of the ship to take pot-shots at hellbeasts—" Clinging white-knuckled to the console with both hands, Lorne's voice rose with panic, "—Mind that post."

"It's not a basket, it's a maintenance safety harness, and that wasn't a post, it was a com array," Sal shot back, testily. "It'd be a lot easier to navigate if I wasn't having to fly low enough to get blinded by the damned smoke—in case you didn't notice it."

"Well, thank you, Mr Pedantic. How about you just fly the ship, preferably with your eyes open? The smoke isn't as thick as it was—in case you hadn't noticed."

It was true. The rain was finally dampening the fires started by the Narzgh to flush out victims, reducing them to a sullen smoulder.

"Why you—" Sal's growl was cut off by a much more impressive, plaintive one, and it came from the new gunnery compartment. Freyrr sounded no happier than Sal.

Neither of them understood Wookiee. "What's she saying?"

"I have no idea." Lorne stood up, "But, I'm outta here anyway. I think I'll go and see how the princess is doing. I figure I stand a better chance of not going grey watching her shoot things than you fly."

Sal gave him another death glare. "You're gonna pay for that."

"I always do, Sugarplum."

Staggering his way through the bowels of the engineering bay, arms out to steady himself while trying not to snag or push anything crucial as the ship pitched and tossed, Lorne sincerely wished he'd stayed in Caritas. Of course, it had sounded like a good idea at the time. Flying in the air way, way above where any Narzgh could reach had seemed perfectly safe. Unfortunately, the plan changed.

Red eyes rolled in disgust. "Oh, didn't it just."

The freight elevator doors opened just as the Limidian gave a serious jolt, almost pitching Lorne inside, head first. Muttering under his breath, he jammed himself into the corner and jabbed a finger on the control panel, selecting the lower cargo loading room.

A whistling, beeping Ceetee met him at the end of the short, jerky ride down. Behind the droid, Padmé Amidala was sat cross-legged on the cargo room floor. She was still graceful, despite the bulky straps and buckles of the harness. He noticed that the contents of a medpac was spread out by her right hip, a circumstance that was explained when he saw she was patching up a deep, jagged cut on her arm. The gash was deep and sullenly oozing blood. Lorne was almost afraid to ask, but she must have glanced up and seen the direction of his gaze.

"A grappling hook got too close," she explained, spraying on the flexible bandage that would help staunch the flow. "I came up to deal with it in case I lost too much blood."

The fact that she wouldn't meet his gaze told him that he still wasn't forgiven for walking into his apartment and finding her lip-locked with her juicy Jedi of a husband. He didn't blame her; it had been a doozy of an 'oops' moment—and not just for himself.

Gingerly lowering himself to sit next to her, Lorne shuddered at the sudden notion he had of what could've happen to her if she passed out while dangling underneath the ship. "If it got that close, it was _too_ close," he told her, feelingly. "I am _so_ not sticking around when you're explaining that one."

Jerking her head up, Padmé fixed him with a steely stare. "There's no reason for him to find out. It's just a cut. It'll heal."

They both knew the 'him' was Anakin. A definite touchy subject.

Thinking that she'd have a job hiding the fact that she was soaked to the skin, soot-covered and wearing a bandage, Lorne wisely changed the subject. "I still don't get why your furry friend gets to stay in the nice warm gunnery … cockpit, or whatever you call it, while you're stuck out here."

"I'm better at hitting smaller targets and the cannons can only be used when there's no chance of damaging a building," she said, snapping on the snug, padded cuff that would hold the bandage in place. "There are people inside them, remember."

"Which, considering we're in a densely populated area, doesn't give her much to do. I think I figured out why your pal is getting so vocal—she's frustrated."

That earned him a small smile. "We all are. Blasters really don't have much effect. I honestly don't know how much good I've been doing out there." She sighed and scrubbed a palm over her forehead, the elbow resting on one upraised knee. Exhaustion had turned her skin translucent. "At least it seems to be ending. I haven't spotted any Narzgh in the last few minutes." She paused, flicked him a glance and asked, " Have you seen Anakin lately?"

All that was missing was her casually checking her nails. He wasn't fooled by her casual tone, or miss the flush that stained her cheeks enough that she ducked her head, suddenly intent on repacking the medpac with all of the due care of a surgeon with a laser scalpel. "Nope. Not for a while. I think our intrepid pilot is avoiding flying over where he is in case your overly protective ex takes exception to your idea of staying safely out of the way—and us being crazy enough to let you do it."

The hand-held medisensor was unlucky enough to be in her hand when he said it. Due care went out of the proverbial window. She jammed it into its slot hard enough to shatter some circuits. "How many times do I have to say this? Anakin is _not_ my keeper. I don't answer to him."

An imp he would strangle later made him say, "No, but he loves you, and he is the one wearing the shiny, deadly stick-thing attached to his belt twenty-four-seven. It tends to make folks sit up and notice."

His reward was yet another death glare. Slamming the lid of the medpac shut, she rose regally to her feet. Staying where he was, Lorne winced, mentally making a note to have his meddling instincts surgically removed. He held up his hands in conciliation. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger. I can't control what I see."

Brown eyes smiting him, she snapped. "Well, try—"

Luckily for the skin she was about to verbally flay off him, the nearby com pinged and Sal's gruff voice filtered out of the speaker, cutting her off. _"I need some more eyes up here. Something weird is going on, and I can't spot our hero anywhere."_

ooo

Maul was cloaking his Force signature. Frustration that he'd lost the momentum so easily threatened to cloud his thoughts: Anakin pushed it back. After all, it was what Maul wanted, his judgement impaired to the point of rashness. Such a tactic was typical of Dun Möch—a Sith form of combat that aimed to dominate and undermine an opponent's will through doubt, uncertainty and confusion.

Keeping his emotions contained, Anakin searched, knowing that soon enough Maul would reveal himself. For one thing, dawn couldn't be that far off. The dome turned out to be a sports arena. He walked passed smashed ticket dispensers, forlorn concession stands covered in graffiti, gender-oriented freshers, and VIP boxes where the privileged had watched either swoop racing or what looked like some sort of derivative of Galactic shock ball. Ghostly echoes of past noise and crowds made the silence oddly heavy and oppressive. Leaning over the railing of one of those boxes, he looked down at the arena floor. Thanks to the retractable roof of the dome having been left open, the track and playing-field were overgrown with plant life, so much so that it was hard to spot the acceleration pads and automated obstacles that were designed to test a swoop driver to the absolute limit.

The shock ball came out of nowhere.

Anakin ducked, and spinning, watched it crash into the far wall, ricochet off the ceiling with a shower of silica and then head right back at him. Eyes widening, Anakin suddenly recalled the most dangerous aspect of a shock ball. With no other choice, he swung a leg over the railing and jumped, plummeting to the general stands far below.

Strikingly similar to the energy ball used by the Gungans at the battle of Naboo, a shock ball was filled with a form of unstable plasma. The difference was that being hit by one wasn't deadly, just disabling. Unfortunately, the ball was self-propelled, flight capable, incredibly fast, practically indestructible and programmed to chase after anything that moved.

Even cushioned by the Force, Anakin's landing wasn't soft. He landed on his feet, but the moulded plastex seat under him, weakened by decades of weather corrosion, collapsed, taking him with it. Rolling from one level to the next, he absorbed the pain and managed to stop himself by reaching out and latching onto a sturdier seat. Splayed on his side across two levels, he sought to bring his rioting senses back under control.

It was then that he noticed that the whole grounds were suddenly alight with illumination. Obviously, despite being abandoned for seventy years, there was still power. On the far side of the track, a scoreboard hummed into life, announcing in a male-simulated voice that the score was 0:0 with one ball in play.

All Anakin could think was, thank the Force there was only one.

A split-second of warning meant Anakin whipped around and twisted his lower body out of the way just in time to avoid sliced in two by Maul's lightsaber. Jerking his head around, he got a flash of bared fangs and molten eyes. Using a Force-push that Maul resisted, Anakin was able to swing his legs around and up, getting his revenge for the earlier kick to the face. He used the reprieve to reactivate his own 'saber.

Flexing his back, Anakin flipped upright onto his feet. A few feet away, Maul twirled his saberstaff and then attacked with a superfast flurry of alternating, horizontal strikes that was the true power behind a double-bladed weapon. Gritting his teeth, it was all Anakin could do to parry each one, especially since movement was restricted on the decidedly uneven surface of the stands.

There was no talking, only grunting and sweat. The shock ball also did its best to keep things interesting. Leaping from chair to chair, level to level, the combat continued with furious intensity. Blue and red light danced and twirled so fast as to be a blur. Each concentrated on making every slash, chop and swing as savage as possible. Jumping in the air to avoid an ankle-sweep, Anakin aimed high, slashing at Maul's neck. The move was blocked. Executing a misleading half spin, Maul went in low again. This time, Anakin did a full back-flip, gaining time to drag up three of the loosest seats and sending them zipping straight at Maul.

The shock ball got one, Maul slashed another in two, but the third hit its mark. While Maul struggled for balance, Anakin flew at him.

Slash. Parry. Strike. Block. Lashing out with another kick, Anakin sent Maul crashing into the safety barrier that separated the lowest seats from the track. This time they crossed 'sabers and held. Blade-to-blade they strained, snarling faces only inches apart. Anakin was taller, but Maul was heavier: neither could get the advantage long enough to do anything about it.

Eyes glinting hungrily, Maul leaned in and snapped his fangs a hairsbreadth from Anakin's skin.

Stomach rolling in disgust, Anakin ended the futile contest. Abruptly switching to a one-handed grip on his lightsaber, he aimed an open-palm strike at Maul's chin, viciously snapping his head back on his neck so that it collided with the barrier, gritting out, "Did no-one ever teach you not to play with your food?"

His back-spin chop was deflected and then Maul flipped over the barrier to land nimbly on the track itself. Anakin followed. On firm ground, he made an impulsive decision. Bracing his legs apart, he assumed the opening Soresu stance—Obi-Wan's preferred style. The Way of the Mynock. The way of patience and perseverance. The first had never been his strong-suit—bizarrely, now seemed a good time to practice.

"Defence is for cowards and weaklings." Maul mocked, prowling in a wide semi-circle on the cracked and sun-bleached track surface. "You will not slay me with patience—a fact that you proved to your old Jedi master yourself."

Instead of being provoked, Anakin felt a wave of _rightness_—he could explain the glow flooding inside his belly in no other way. "Obi-Wan defeated you as a padawan. I wouldn't be so quick to crow if I were you."

Leading with a swing from behind his back, Maul's attack was a furious whirlwind of murderous red. Still, he was unable to break through Anakin's swift blocks and parries that left no opening for a strike to penetrate. Again and again, Anakin gave ground, exactly as Obi-Wan had on Mustafar. It didn't matter, there was plenty of ground to give and he had time to gain insights into this twisted, demon version of Sidious' first apprentice.

Until he backed onto an acceleration pad.

It was like standing between two power couplings. Every hair rose on Anakin's body. Judders worked up his legs and he was powerless to control his limbs. Then, he went airborne. He sailed over Maul's head. A net strong enough to catch a racing swoop going at over six hundred kilometres per hour levered up from the ground, and he had no way of avoiding it. Behind him, Maul didn't sense the ground give way beneath his feet until too late—a trap door big enough to swallow a swoop bike sent the Narzgh sliding into the nether-regions of the arena.

Clinging to the webbing of the net with the fingers of one hand, Anakin had a choice, lose track of his foe again, or make the leap. He leapt. Landing, rolling and sliding, he followed Maul seconds before the trap door closed shut again.

ooo

They'd been drawn to the glow of light from the arena like a beacon. Sal piloted the Limidian so that it remained stationery over the open roof of the dome. They had an excellent view of the inside. Apart from an initial gasp, Padmé was silent as she watched the duel unfold below. She couldn't talk past the lump of fear in her throat anyway. Not to mention that she was holding her breath.

On her right, a grim-faced Sal muttered a curse. "I wondered when one of those black-hearted maggots was going to show up."

The fight seemed to go on forever, yet the speed of it was breathtaking. By the time Anakin leapt to the track, Padmé's heart was thudding sickly, her belly was in knots and she had half-moon cuts on her palms from digging her nails into her skin. In her mind, she was practically chanting a string of pleas to any power that would listen.

_I can't go through this again. I need him to be okay. Please let him be okay._

After a few moments of watching Anakin being driven back, Lorne covered his eyes. "Okay, I can't watch. Tell me when it's over."

Padmé wanted to cover her eyes too and might have if she wasn't locked in place. It was torture to watch. She knew enough to recognise that the two fighters were evenly 

matched—meaning it could go either way. Dread squeezed tighter in relentless fist. She was afraid to lose him. She was utterly powerless to help and terrified Anakin might be cut down right in front of her eyes. Just the thought of it shredded her heart. It was also surreal to realise that she'd never truly hated before, until now. She hated the monster in black in that moment with every fibre of her being. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she tried to contain the churning inside. _Please don't let Anakin be hurt. Please!_

Still with his eyes covered, Lorne offered, "Can't we shoot it or something?"

The question made her jolt. "I've been thinking that too, but I'm terrified of hitting Anakin—they're moving so fast, and what if all we do is distract him at the wrong moment?"

The debate became moot when the net sprang up and caught Anakin. Padmé's heart literally stopped in her chest. Contrarily, the relief she felt when the Narzgh fell down a trap that opened under its feet was so strong it made her dizzy. Her eyes slid shut and the constriction in her chest eased. _At last, it was over and he was safe._

Unfortunately, the relief was short-lived.

Disbelievingly, she watched Anakin slide down into the same pit just before it closed. What left her reeling was the certainty that the move could only have been deliberate.

There was a stunned silence. Then, voice thick with incredulity, Sal said what they were all thinking. "What the hell? That kid is _certifiable_!"

Oddly, Padmé felt calm—icy calm. She knew just what she was going to do.

"Land the ship on the track."

All eyes swung towards Padmé. "Land the ship," she repeated, turning to push past Freyrr. In the pilot's seat, Sal opened his mouth. She whipped around, expression suddenly fierce. "And, don't even try and argue with me. I refuse to stand by and let that _thing_ get Anakin. He might think he's indestructible, but he's wrong—even a Jedi gets tired. We can help, and I don't know about you, but I have to try. _Land the ship._"

ooo

It was pitch-black inside. He fell roughly five metres. Managing to twist himself to land on his feet, Anakin had the errant thought that Obi-Wan would have been proud that he'd kept a hold of his lightsaber.

The protesting creak of metal and whoosh of displaced air had him dropping flat to the floor and rolling. Even so, the crash sounded right by his head and debris rained down on his back and legs. Keeping going, Anakin regained his feet just in time to deflect a stab that would have sunk Maul's lightsaber into his guts.

Reverting back to Form V, Anakin performed a circular sweep that dragged his blade across Maul's. The _tish-zung_ of opposing plasma was deafening. Maul brought up his knee. Anakin brought up his own and blocked it. They separated and then came back together. Walls and equipment were soon lit up by eerie flashing, swirling light as the duel reached new heights of speed and viciousness. Some of that same equipment went flying through the air, aimed at either opponent. Sparks showered the pair as metal found itself rent into fragments by the superheated force contained in a glowing blade.

Spin. Slash. Parry. Right chop. Block. Left chop. Block. Twirl. Slash. Overhead strike. Deflect. Spin. Strike. Strike. Strike. Block. Spin. Twirl. Sweep. Jump. Chop. Kick.

Finding himself about to slam into a wall, Anakin raised a leg, planted it and used the wall as a springboard to flip away.

"You are weak," sneered Maul, tracking him. "Even the feeble powers you held as a cyborg are gone. The dark side has abandoned you. You cannot win. It is inevitable that I _will_ defeat you."

_Only the Sith deal in absolutes_. The memory came out of nowhere. For the first time it made Anakin smile, albeit ruefully.

"Is that supposed to be an insult? Get your facts straight. The dark side didn't abandon me, I abandoned _it_. I don't _want_ it. I don't _need_ it." He punctuated each statement with a flurry of slashes that forced the Narzgh back. "And, just so you know—" Anakin's overhead strike was powerful enough to sing up both sets of arms. As Maul blocked, Anakin used the contact to shove him back, "—I don't feel like losing tonight."

When the last words were spoken, Anakin feinted left, spun, switched hands and reversed his grip on his lightsaber. Maul didn't see it coming and Anakin's blade slashed up the Narzgh's front, severing the double-handle of his saberstaff to the right of its middle.

Throwing the useless half away, Maul flew at him, enraged. Being deprived one of half of his weapon in no way made the Narzgh any less dangerous or powerful an opponent.

The battle shifted from chamber to chamber, bay to bay, leaving a trail of smoking, sparking destruction in its wake. At one point, they hit a control panel that tripped an alarm, causing the lights to come on, but flashing red instead of a steady yellow. Anakin was on the defensive again when a door opened behind his back, leading into a narrow, confined corridor. They went through it. Accessways fit only for small droids led off the corridor into other areas, all were dismissed as too cramped. A set of tracks were set into the floor. Searching for the reason for the tracks through the Force, Anakin found the transport cart at the other end of the corridor, and brought it hurtling towards the fight.

The four passenger automated cart shot sparks as it raced towards Maul's unprotected back. Sensing it at the last moment, Maul threw himself to the side. Raising a hand, concentrating fiercely, Anakin brought the cart to a shuddering halt before it reached him, lifted it and hurled it straight at Maul anyway.

Maul raised his hand too. Growling like the animal he was, he called on the dark side to reverse the cart's direction. It halted in-between them, quivering and groaning under the immense, duel pressure. Cracks appeared in the transparasteel windows and the sturdy alloy body began to buckle.

Anakin was sure he could have won that particular contest, if Padmé hadn't suddenly appeared at the same doorway he'd come through only moments ago. He blinked, thinking her an illusion at first. His concentration slipped only a notch, perhaps for a microsecond, but it was enough. Maul's Force-push didn't just shove the cart, but Anakin too. He felt himself fly backwards as if catapulted. In the blink of an eye, he was crashing into an archway built into the corridor to help support it from the weight of the arena above. The impact sent white-hot agony ripping through his body. If he hadn't instinctively cushioned himself it could have knocked him unconscious, or worse. Unfortunately, that wasn't the end of it. The cart was on the same trajectory.

Sprawled on the floor, Anakin was forced to roll again. Purely by accident, he bumped into his lightsaber. The impact had jerked it from his nerveless hand. The silver and black hilt skittered in front of him as he tried to get some distance. With a tremendous crash of rending metal, the cart smashed into the archway, and like Anakin before it, dropped to the floor. It came to rest inches away, blocking the entire corridor at one end.

Heart thundering, ears ringing, Anakin didn't stop to think or feel the pain still streaking through his body. Lunging to his feet, he called his lightsaber to hand and pelted back the way they'd come.

Padmé and Maul were gone.

No! No! NO!

"_Padmé!_" Her name came out as a desperate, despairing roar that raked the lining of his throat. Calling on every vestige of power at his command, he reached for more speed.

ooo

Padmé didn't have time to check that Anakin was all right. As they'd expected, the Narzgh came straight at her the moment it saw her. She wasn't stupid enough to waste time using a blaster. Arms pumping, heart racing, she sprinted back through the maze of still smoking chambers—the very same path of destruction she'd used to find Anakin. In one hand she was desperately clutching a com-link. Behind her, the Narzgh didn't try to silence his pursuit. Under the sounds of her own panting breaths, hammering pulse and thudding feet, she thought she heard Anakin's despairing bellow. There wasn't time to feel sorry for causing him pain either.

Skidding around a corner, the doorway she was aiming for came into view and she locked eyes on it, willing herself to reach it, willing herself to be faster. Freyrr appeared in her line of sight, blaster rife in hand. Padmé didn't even spare the effort to flinch as the red bolts flew past her shoulder. She just hoped the blaster slowed down the Narzgh because it felt as if the thing was breathing down her neck.

As she got closer, Freyrr dropped back, still ominously firing at the monster chasing Padmé. When she reached her, the Wookiee wheeled around and ran with her. Together, they reached the very same drop-trap chamber that Anakin had fallen down into. The trap door was open again and braced to stay that way. A thick cable dangled down from above. Grasping it, Padmé climbed quicker than she'd ever climbed before, praying that the Narzgh wouldn't go after Freyrr instead. She needn't have worried. All too soon she felt the heavy swing of something latching onto the cable underneath her. She didn't dare look down, just scrambled higher, pulling herself up hand-over-hand.

"We're on," she yelled into the com-link.

The jolt of the ship rising so quickly made her slide down a few gut-wrenching inches. Luckily, the cable began to retract too. Blaster fire from below continued to pepper the Narzgh and she could hear Freyrr's battle roars. The belly of the Limidian got bigger and bigger as Padmé was drawn up. Unfortunately, so was the Narzgh. She could almost feel the searing heat of its malevolence crawling up her legs. Bile spat into her throat at the thought.

_Come on. Come on. Come on._

She was still wearing the harness she'd used earlier. The com-link almost slipped out of her sweaty hand as she tried to grasp the hook she needed. The plan was for her to get safely attached to the cage rigged up under the lower deck loading hatch. Once that was done, Ceetee would release the cable the Narzgh was holding onto and drop the demon back to ground—having fallen a long, long way. The ship continued to rise sharply into the air. The cable was swinging wildly now and she didn't need to look down to see that the thing was catching up to her—fast.

Panic tried to haze her mind, but she pushed it back. She just needed a little longer—just a little longer, please!

There!

Reaching up, she slammed the anchoring hook home. Before she could call for Ceetee to release the cable, something latched onto her foot with enough strength to crush the bones. She literally felt them snap. Shrieking pain radiated up her leg in sickening waves.

Depressing the link, she screamed, "Ceetee!" It was all she could manage.

Clinging, dangling, agonised, she barely heard the beeps and whistles of the droid. _Please, just get it right, Ceetee_. The cable started to whip past her face, released as planned. The agony didn't abate though. The grip tightened again, racking up the pain to truly unbearable.

With no other choice, she looked down. She would never forget the face that grinned up at her with such sadistic, gloating pleasure at causing her pain. It was a Narzgh, yes, but she also recognised it—him. It was the tattoos and the horns, but mostly the fiery red and gold eyes that yanked the memory to the fore of her mind. _She'd seen him before. This thing had killed Qui-Gon Jinn._ He was also no longer holding onto the cable, but onto _her_. Her entire leg was on fire now and threatening to rip loose from her hip. She watched through a glaze of pain as he activated his lightsaber. _And now he was going to kill her._ While one part of her mind realised that she had no chance of kicking him free, the other part of Padmé couldn't not try.

She didn't need to. Something unbelievable happened. Streaking down from above, arcs of blue electricity shot past her and hit the Narzgh directly in that terrifying face. She saw blisters form and could smell the flesh burn. Startled, pained, the Narzgh let go. With no cable to latch onto after having involuntarily released Padmé, he then began to plummet, arms wheeling, heading back to the ground far, far below.

"Ceetee," she whispered, realising who had saved her. Going limp, she inhaled a sobbing, relieved breath. A soft, almost crooning series of toodles floated back down from the hatchway. She didn't need an interpreter. The little droid was pleased with himself, but still concerned about her. Mind floating in the aftermath of adrenaline crash, she made a note to thank the droid. Moments later, hands she barely noticed reached down to grasp her. A comforting voice offered soothing words that washed over her unheard while she was pulled safely inside the Limidian.

Before she knew it, she was lying on the floor of the lower cargo hold again. A green face swam in and out of her vision. "Is Anakin all right?" she asked—then fainted.

ooo

It had finally stopped raining. The shock ball court was encircled by the racetrack and equally overrun with shrub and weeds. Body numb, emotions raw, Anakin walked towards where Maul had landed—skewered through the sternum on a tall, thin post with a basket at the top. The basket now lay in pieces under Maul's back. Adding a surreal twist, the scoreboard had updated, accompanied by the electronically-jovial announcement advising that the score was now 0:1. Unbelievably, the Narzgh was still alive.

Left-over terror for Padmé was still making his breath gutter and limbs quake, leaving no room for anything else. Standing to the side and looking down at Maul, Anakin felt … nothing.

Black blood pooled under the one-time Sith Lord. The horrific extent of his injury had drained his strength, but not his life. He was trying to snap the post jutting up from his torso between his gloved hands. Left alone, he may well have eventually managed to break the post and pull himself up and free. That couldn't be allowed to happen. Without making a conscious decision, Anakin's lightsaber flared back to life. Two chops was all it took to sever those hands. Flopping back, powerless and defeated, Maul glared his loathing.

"Killing me will not help you," he ground out. "In the end, it will make no difference."

Behind them and at his request, Freyrr was waiting for the Limidian to land, and keeping her distance. The Wookiee hadn't argued when he'd asked for time alone with the Narzgh. She'd seemed to understand. Expression dark and yet strangely blank, Anakin hunkered down close. He wanted a short, private conversation before the others arrived.

"Who sent you after me?" he asked without preamble.

Maul's lip curled back, showing stained fangs. "Myself. I wanted my revenge." His voice was as rough as shards of broken glass. He coughed up blood. "Did you think we didn't know about you?"

"You're lying," Anakin said flatly, frowning. "I felt the strength of the dark side tonight. You were always its servant, not the other way around. Only one man I have ever known had the power to bend it to his will. Is Sidious here? Tell me. You have nothing left to lose."

The red gold eyes, burning with unquenchable hate, didn't even blink. "Think what you will. I will tell you nothing."

"And by saying that much, you have told me enough." Anakin knew that hours of torture would gain him nothing more, so he didn't waste time asking. Tipping back his head, he surveyed the sky above. It was beginning to lighten to grey. He sensed some of the others approach. He didn't need to turn around to know that Padmé wasn't with them. He knew exactly where she was. He could feel the echo of her pain quivering in the Force. Pain inflicted by the beast before him. Hot rage flared in his chest—he snuffed it out. "The sun is rising," he told Maul, pointedly. "Does that bother you?"

For the first time something akin to fear flickered over Maul's face. He struggled to lift his head off the ground. "This duel isn't finished until you kill me, Jedi. Victory is yours. What are you waiting for?"

Shrugging, Anakin rose and dusted his hands. "I'm waiting for dawn," he replied simply. He wondered if Maul could sense the blazing satisfaction he felt at saying it. His smile wasn't pleasant. "I'm looking forward to seeing what it does to you."

He walked away then, ignoring Maul's renewed struggles, and now palpable fear.

Sal and Lorne walked over to meet him. CT-6T6 trundled along beside the pilot. He motioned the droid to join him. "Ceetee, get ready to record this?"

ooo

It was over. The sun was a blazing yellow disc rising strongly from the rim of the roof while blue chased grey across the sky. Three humanoid witnesses and one atromech droid were ranged in a semi-circle around the remains. Blackened to tar and mostly ash, the face still bore evidence of a last tormented howl. The body had fared no better. The hands Anakin had severed were little more than small piles of ash with a few twisted bones holding them in shape.

"That was oddly satisfying," reflected Sal. He walked over and poked the toe of a dusty brown boot into what had once been a rib. A concave hollow appeared in a puff of ash.

"Who doesn't love watching a big bad turn shish-kabob?" offered Lorne. So saying, the Pylean aimed a glance back at the Limidian, and beamed. "Here's the heroine of the hour," he said, loudly. "Hey beautiful. Come over here and join us." He waved a negligent hand at Maul. "The shows over, but the reviews are still coming in."

Ceetee swivelled his dome and whistled a greeting. Next to the droid, Anakin uncrossed his arms and turned his head too.

For the sake of his flimsi-thin composure, he didn't dwell long on her pale, smudged face, translucent cast and bandages. He'd always _hated_ seeing her hurt—right now, it also made him angry. Along with the sickening images his fertile imagination had come up with when he'd thought Maul had her, his mind insisted on conjuring up the promise she'd finally given him outside the Limidian—softly, reluctantly spoken, and _broken_.

Supported by Freyrr, Padmé held herself stiffly and didn't meet his gaze for longer than it took to grimace and avert her eyes. Anakin stiffened, reminded of the last time they'd been this close. The scene played back in his head with crystal clarity. She'd backed away from him with a hand over her mouth and those same eyes wide and distraught. _I can't do this. I can't risk it_, she'd said. At the time, their kiss had still been warm on his lips. Ice covered the spot now and his heart twisted. He'd been pushing the knowledge away, refusing to think about it, but now it slapped him in the face. He'd recognised the emotions racing through her; shock, horror and _fear_. She couldn't possibly regret that kiss more he did, he thought, with a trace of savagery—it had served only to remind him of what he'd lost and why, that hope, even unacknowledged, was an illusion, and that a part of her still feared that he could fall back to the dark side.

Other emotions joined the slow simmer of his anger. Despair, pain, and yes, resentment, threatened to overwhelm him.

He turned away. He had to, but not before noting the glaze in her eyes. Obviously, she'd been given the standard pain meds. While dealing with the fallen Maul, the knowledge that he would be able to see to her better later had allowed him to concentrate on the task at hand. His fingers clenched into fists. He still intended to, whether she liked it or not.

Staring at nothing, his jaw went so tight that a muscle ticced. It was her own fault. If she'd listened to him, she wouldn't have got hurt in the first place.

The others were oblivious to his rioting emotions. Freyrr took Padmé over to Lorne. Crooking an inviting elbow, the Pylean asked, "So, have you come to see the crispy critter?"

Threading her other arm through Lorne's, Padmé gave a brisk nod. "I wanted to see the result for myself."

Silently, they left her to soak in the sight of what was left of Darth Maul. She gazed at the charred remains dispassionately for a few seconds. Then a smile broke over her face, as fresh and clear as the new dawn they stood under. "It does work. The sun really does kill them."

ooo

Tingling warmth suffused her foot. Lying back on the cot and staring at the ceiling, Padmé tried not to be so ridiculously sensitive to the touch of Anakin's hands on her skin. Risking a glance at his stony profile, she cleared her throat. "You're really good at that."

He didn't lift his head or shift the hands encasing most of her foot. "Not really. I'm not a healer. I can do some of the smaller stuff if I have to. If you'd have broken a bigger bone, I probably wouldn't have been able to do much."

Padmé sighed. He sounded as a stiff as a new recruit. Maybe it was the drugs, or a side effect of Force-healing, but she decided to call him on it. "You're angry with me aren't you?"

He shot her one hard, glittering look, then turned back to what he was doing. "Why would I be angry that you broke your promise?"

They were still on the Limidian and the ship hummed around them. The cramped crew quarters doubled up as an infirmary when necessary. Padmé felt her own temper flare and stoked it. She rose up on her elbows, all the better to fight back. "I kept that stupid promise—one I was against making, I might add—all night. Then you had to dive into a deep, dark hole with that monster. What was I supposed to do, cross my fingers and hope?"

He still didn't look at her, or answer straight away, although his nostrils flared. Padmé got the distinct impression that he was finishing what he wanted to accomplish before replying.

She was right on the money.

Several heartbeats passed. When he did release her foot and step away, he finally looked at her, letting her see the fire in his eyes. His anger seemed to lend him even more height, so that he towered over her. "I was doing fine until you turned up. I've faced him before, and worse, many times. I was handling it. You shouldn't have been there. If you'd just been a _second_ slower…"

He didn't finish, but whirled away, raking a shaking hand through his hair.

Padmé frowned, staring at his back. It unnerved her more than she cared to admit to see him so agitated—over her. She also hadn't known that Anakin had fought Darth Maul before now. She jutted out her chin, not sure why that made any difference. "How was I supposed to know that you'd fought him before? It's not like you've ever given me a list."

"You were supposed to _trust_ me." His voice sounded suffocated, bitten off—like a man fighting for calm. Hands on hips, he swung back to face her.

His glower was intimidating.

Padmé refused to be cowed. She sat up, not even noticing that her foot didn't so much as twinge. "That's easy for you to say when you're not the one standing watch, powerless to help. I've been doing that for years and I'm tired of it." Their duel glares threatened to ignite the space between them. Padmé forced herself to calm. "Besides, it's not about trust. I do trust you. Maybe you should start trusting _me_. We did what we set out to do."

"You could have _died_!" he shot back.

"I've died before. That would be nothing new." She shrew up her hands. "All that would happen to me is that I'd be stuck back in the first world when I want to be here, doing something useful. At least I know that I won't end up a slavering beast intent only on maiming and killing."

So much for calm. Before the last words were out, Padmé wished she could take them back. He was rattling her, but it was no excuse. Diplomacy was supposed to be her stock in trade. She saw shock bloom on his face before he jerked his head to the side to hide it. Jerkily, she lifted a hand, unable to reach him anyway—the distance was too great, all of a sudden it felt like a chasm. "Anakin, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Yes, you did." As easily as that, he shut down, shutting her out. "And you're right. I don't deny it."

Blank-faced, he nodded at her foot. "You still need to wear the cast and stay off that foot for a few days. After that, you should be fine."

Before she could marshal her wits enough to say anything else, he was gone, leaving her alone with only a resounding silence for company. Flopping back to lie the cot, she pressed a thumb and forefinger into stinging eyes.

What had she done? How could she have said that?

Gods! She hadn't even told him the truth, or not all of it. She'd hinted at it, but he'd missed it. The consequences of Anakin dying before redeeming himself hadn't even occurred to her when she'd made that reckless decision to intervene. Just three simple words and he would have known all of it. _I love you._

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes:**  
(1) Credit to Wookiepedia for the restaurant name.  
(2) Thanks to **YellowDart** for the beta.  
(3) I am so sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. Among other things, RL decided to make thing interesting technology wise. I've been suffering with a whole bunch of virus' that (after days trying to fix it) meant I had to completely wipe my hard-drive and have it rebuilt.:(

ANON REPLIES:

**GP** - _Intense and for a moment I thought Pad could die, but then again the story wouldn't have the life it does with tortuing her and ani. LOL. But it was wonderful._  
Thank you so much for the reply and letting me know that you're enjoying the story!

**mlhkvh5** - _I just got caught up on the last few chapter, and I am speechless! The rescue of Chewbacca was exciting, and the way you write Anakin and Padme getting closer, and that Kiss! was wow! Then the pull back in the next chapter, with the hurtful comment at the end by Padme puts them back at square one almost. The fight with Darth Maul and the entire story is enthralling, like watching a movie. I get popcorn when I read your story! Looking forward to more!_

Hey there! Aww! I'm so pleased that you enjoy the chapters so much. It really means a great deal that you're still finding it gripping. Thanks for the ongoing support!

**Lal08** - _Absolutely beautiful chapter... Loved the last scene and their interaction..._

Thanks! *blush* I love knowing that it hit the right notes for you. X

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE FOR THEIR PATIENCE AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY THE NEW CHAPTER.

**Chapter Twelve**

Guil Natar was not ignorant of his own shortcomings. He had no friends and no loved ones. He did not have to wonder why. His nature was entirely selfish; his instinct for survival was overly well-developed, and he had no loyalty whatsoever—except to himself. Backstabbing, kickbacks, petty squabbling and all of the subtle, and not so subtle, intrigues of public life _was_ his life, and soul. What brought these rare reflections to mind was the Premier himself. For the first time in seventy odd years, Lyonides did not look well, or in control. It wasn't anything obvious, but Guil's instincts were quivering. Concern for himself and his position, was, as usual, uppermost in his mind.

Face blank and eyes sharp, he bowed. "You sent for me, my lord?"

Lyonides was lost in thought, drumming the fingers of his right on the polished expanse of his desk. There was a fine tremor in the hand and the quartz ring on his index finger was slipping down. He was losing weight, and sleep, by the looks of it Natar noted. The mid-day sun, blazing down from the circular skylight built into the ceiling, was merciless in highlighting every sagging shadow.

It took a moment for Lyonides to drag his attention from whatever was occupying his mind to acknowledge his presence. Blinking, he nodded and waved a hand. "Yes, take a seat Guil. We have things of a _delicate_ nature to discuss."

"Of course, my lord."

Natar took the proffered seat, folding his flowing black robes fussily around his tall, thin frame. As he did, his mind pondered the term 'delicate'. Over the years, they had discussed many things others would consider unconscionable. Curious, he waited to find out more. There were no attendants or guards in the Premier's apartments. Not so long ago, Lyonides would hardly move a step without someone to dance attendance—more of a status symbol than a necessity, yet recently he'd become increasingly solitary. Was he about to find out why? Intrigued, Natar leaned forward and set his gaze on the man behind the desk. "How may I be of service, Premier?"

"I have a job for you that is not to be delegated to an underling, are we clear?" Lyonides voice sounded rusty, as if through lack of use or a dire need of water.

Natar didn't hesitate. "Certainly, my lord. I am at your command."

Pulling open a drawer on the right of his desk, Lyonides withdrew a datapad. Once it was in his hands, he held onto it a beat longer than necessary before sliding it over so that Natar could pick it up. He nodded at the slim hand-held recording device. "On there is a list of names of people whose backgrounds I want investigating. I want a full accounting, particularly professional and character assessments. Leave nothing out. You are free to interview each as thoroughly as you like, but be diplomatic and discreet. I don't want them alienated, or your discourse with any one of them to be revealed to the public."

Natar was disappointed, to say the least. He had been expecting something a lot more _interesting_ than invading the privacy of some citizens. He glanced at the names and raised a brow, recognising a few. His interest piqued again. "Am I allowed to ask to what this request pertains?"

Lyonides looked set to refuse. Quickly and smoothly, Natar made an educated guess, adding, "It would be extremely helpful to know what it is that you want me to find—before I start to search."

"The people on that list are journalists," admitted, Lyonides, bluntly. "I want you to find me one who is both daring and vindictive enough to assassinate the character of a man revered by the public—currently." He added the last with a kind of silky significance that was telling in itself.

Natar could only stare. Surely he couldn't mean who he thought he did, could he? He coughed. "Forgive me, my lord. Do you mean Skywalker?"

Sitting back in his chair, Lyonides gave a sickly, wry smile at his reaction and steepled his fingers under his chin. "I know what you're going to say, so there's no need to say it. Just do it, Natar."

"But…but, his acclaim has only increased in the last ten days …his finding out that the Narzgh die when exposed to the sun—the _entire_ city is still celebrating." Realising that his voice was rising to a whine, Natar pulled himself together and gestured with the datapad. "Certainly, I can try to find you such a person, but have you considered the ramifications if this backfires on us? As much as I would personally love to see the man suffer for his arrogance, it could be disastrous."

The sickly smile stayed in place and for once the blue eyes were oddly hot instead of calculating and cold. "Let me worry about that. As someone has recently said to me, _the loftier a height from which a man topples, the swifter and harder will be the eventual fall_."

There was that significance again—as if Lyonides knew something that he didn't. Obviously he did. Natar felt a shiver run down his spine. All of a sudden, he was catching a scent that quickened his heart, the scent of secrets and crushing ruination. _What did Lyonides know about Skywalker?_ Some people's vices were perversions of the flesh, Natar's were perversions of the spirit, it was why he was so good at certain less publicised aspects of his job. Lyonides might as well have been wafting a lit death-stick under the nose of a junky. He felt pinned in place. Now _his_ hands started to shake, with excitement. "If I do find someone, we'll have to give them something extraordinary to broadcast." He licked his lips because his mouth had suddenly gone dry. "Something that can be proven," he cautioned.

Like a web being weaved, the pause that followed skilfully built tension. "And they shall have it," said Lyonides, voice low and intense. He stood, rounding his desk to perch on the far edge and lean companionably close. "As I'm sure you know, my dear Natar, given the right incentive a disillusioned populace can be vicious in ripping apart the very same person they've so recently been worshipping." He canted his head. "I would even go so far as to say that the one feeds directly on the other."

Given the current climate, it didn't sound plausible, and yet there was something vilely cunning in Lyonides' expression that convinced Natar. He was mesmerised. A second shiver passed down his spine. On one level at least, the security minister and the premier had always been in complete agreement, no sacrifice was too high in the quest for power and position, or retaliation too strong when either was challenged.

Skywalker was past due for the last. Natar had not forgotten, nor forgiven, his single humiliating encounter with the Jedi.

Natar's pulse kicked up another gear. "I look forward to seeing if you're right, my lord. If that is all, I'll get started." Anxious to begin, he rose to leave.

Lyonides waited until he was about to press the door release before stopping him. "Actually, there is just one other thing. The last name on that list is not a journalist." Smoothly, he went on, "I want Zarc Wess located and brought to me. Don't let anyone witness who has taken him or where he's being brought. As far as anyone else is concerned, he is simply missing. Secrecy is crucial, do you understand."

Head filled with visions of a humbled, vilified Skywalker, Natar answered by rote. "Yes, my lord, of course. It shall be done exactly as you ask."

~o~

Lyonides waited for the door to shut behind his security minister, then shook his head, lamenting, "What a ghoul you are Natar, and so pitiably easy to manipulate because of it. Useful though."

Following orders, he walked straight to the holotransmission grid. He didn't need to key in the necessary code. He had barely inhaled in a fortifying breath when the blue image of a fully cloaked Sidious duly appeared. The figure didn't speak, waiting. Pride was no longer a factor. He bowed. Sidious then deigned to rasp a single word. "Report."

The words jumbled together in Lyonides' head as the usual paralysing fear took a hold, as it always did when faced with the Sith lord. It was an effort to unlock his tongue. When he could, he rushed into speech. "The shortlist of journalists is about to be whittled down. My security minister is a quick worker when motivated. I expect him to have a name for me before nightfall."

"And Wess?"

"Will be delivered to me directly."

Sidious nodded, a mere movement of his concealing hood. "Good. When that happens, bring him to me. I will see to him personally. I want no mistakes."

Obediently, Lyonides inclined his head. The dark lord was pleased. The constriction in his chest eased. "As you wish, Lord Sidious."

There was a pause. The kind that left his heart hammering, waiting for the blow to land. He didn't have to wait long. "I sense anxiety in you, Premier. You're not beginning to have second thoughts I hope?"

"No. No. Not at all. It is merely that Skywalker is still posing a threat. The way he looks at me. I'm certain that he suspects that you are here—"

Sidious dismissed Skywalker with a flick of a wrist. "Of course he suspects. The point is that he won't find me. He may even consider confronting you—something he would have done immediately at a more reckless time in his life, but he will hold off. I know my old apprentice. He learned patience as a Sith, something the Jedi failed to instil in him, and will not want to tip his hand too soon. Quiet your fears. He won't make a move on you until his position is stronger. That caution is working in our favour." There was a thoughtful pause, then the dark lord conceded, "Still, we have to work quickly."

Lyonides bowed his head lower, grateful to be able to report additional success. "The Falleen have taken the bait and are on their way even as we speak."

"Yes, I am aware of that. The timing is admittedly, tight, but that is an unfortunate necessity. Everything is proceeding exactly as I have foreseen. Soon, Premier, Skywalker will be dealt with and your life will be a great deal less complicated, then you will know that I _always_ keep my promises."

For some reason, hearing that statement tightened the vice around Lyonides again. "Thank you, my lord. I will be forever in your debt."

o~o~o

_Anakin was caught in a thrashing, turbulent sea. The wild chop of the waves ripped at his clothes and flesh, pulling, tugging, crashing over him. His vision was reduced to blurs of colour that would coalesce into yelling faces before washing away again. The roar of those same waves battered at his ears. He tried to lift his arms to wade through the torrent, but for some reason his arms were locked behind his back. He sucked in air thick with hysteria. More faces swam out of the darkness before his eyes. Anger seethed and it wasn't his own. He was panicking, trying to find Padmé. He __**had**__ to find her. The need to find her was like a second heartbeat drumming in his head. He had to __**warn**__ her. He had to __**get her away**__!_

Suddenly, out of nowhere, darkness spewed up like billowing black smoke, swallowing everything in its path. Finally, he saw Padmé. Her face was full of anguish and she was reaching out to him with both hands. He tried to surge towards her, straining, but the riptide took him, dragging him under. He yelled her name, fighting, trying to get back. The panic choked him, surging into his throat, filling his lungs, drowning him. When he surfaced he was flying. Fear was like a hooked claw in his mind now. Beneath him was an unutterable vision of horror. The sight seared itself into his brain—a mass of bodies writhing in a raging madness of intolerable pain. The wailing was like a physical wall he had to fly through to find Padmé. She was here. He had to find her. 

A hand shook Anakin's shoulder, waking him. "Hey!" said a voice.

He jerked upright, chest juddering. His eyes locked on Sal's. He saw the flash of concern in dark eyes that the other man couldn't hide. He tried to speak, but his throat wouldn't cooperate. It came out as a groan.

Sitting back on his haunches, Sal said it for him. "That must have been some nightmare, kid. You're shaking like you're about to come apart on me." His lips kicked up. "You're not, are you?"

The concern was still there, but Sal was hiding it. Grateful, Anakin managed to say, "No."

The sweat was already cooling on his skin. The nightmare clung to the edges of his mind, unwilling to let go.

"So, another nightmare," said Sal, resignedly after a long moment. He was in his pants and shirt with the ties undone on the rough, tan cotton. Sleep wrinkles were visible grooves on his face. He'd obviously rolled out of bed to wake Anakin. "How many is that this week, three?"

Embarrassment mixed with the leftover fear, congealing it. Nodding shortly, Anakin threw back the sheet clinging damply to his skin and swung his legs off his bed. There, he put his head in his hands, digging short nails into his scalp. Viciously, he wished he could reach into his own head and rip out the part that insisted on tormenting him.

_Why did he keep dreaming about Padmé?_ It was driving him crazy. As if things weren't bad enough with the possibility that Sidious was here in Roth. He didn't need this. He didn't _want_ to go through this again.

Sal move back to his own bed, Anakin caught the creak of his weight settling on the mattress.

He looked up and caught Sal cracking a yawn through a hand that was roughly scrubbing his face. "Sorry I woke you."

"I'm getting used to it." Bleary-eyed, Sal regarded him. "What's with you recently? You been eating too much spice or something? That Ukutan stew of Lelo's could stop a bantha in its tracks."

If only it was that simple.

"It's nothing. Go back to sleep. I'm going to take a shower." Anakin rose jerkily to his feet, stumbling over a corner of the sheet that had become entangled around one ankle. The grey light outside the shutters hinted at dawn. There would be no more sleep for him he decided as he headed for the refresher, not for as long as he could stave it off.

The apartment didn't run to a sonicshower, but used a sansisteam instead. Shutting the refresher door, he hooked his fingers inside the waist of his drawstring pants and pushed them down. Naked, he stepped inside the cubicle. Once the steam jets engaged, he planted a hand on the permaglass for support, and finally let the shakes have their way.

The fragrant steam soon clouded the entire cubicle, enveloping him and slicking his skin with moisture. Tears welled again and a few managed to slip down his face. His mind was similarly rebellious. The dreams had begun immediately after his duel with Maul. The same questions haunted him after each. Why did he keep dreaming about Padmé being in danger? Was it reaction to the danger she'd been in then, or something more sinister? If he tried to find out was he actually going to make it happen—like last time? He didn't know. He didn't _dare_ risk trying to find out.

He didn't know what to _do_!

~o~

A few minutes later, clean, if not refreshed, he walked back out wearing his only spare pair of pants. Sal was sitting with his shoulders slumped and hands dangling between his knees. He eyed Anakin sourly, obviously now awake enough to be getting ticked off at being woken so early. "So, you off on one of your wandering stints again, or going back to the factory?"

Finding a fresh tunic and pulling it over his head, Anakin kept his face devoid of expression. "Wandering stints?"

"Yeah, were you disappear for hours searching for some elusive lord of darkness or whatever?"

Anakin felt a twist of dark humour at hearing Sidious described in such a way. He'd told the others what he'd sensed and his suspicions. Their reaction had been mixed and exactly what he'd expected. Padmé was concerned and Sal was sceptical. His brows snapped down. "I didn't realise you were keeping such close tabs on me?"

Sal wasn't in the slightest bit fazed by his scowl. "You've been working flat out with the engineers, translating those barrier specs, training the new recruits that are suddenly coming out of the woodwork, and scouring the city every spare minute. You're always on the move doing _something_. If you're not careful you're gonna burn out, crack or both." He spread his hands. "How's that helping anyone?"

Pressure built at the back of Anakin's head. He didn't want to be questioned. He wanted to be just left to get on with what had to be done, including finding out for certain if Sidious was once again lurking behind the scenes. Didn't they understand how important it was that he know? He checked himself then. Of course they didn't. Only Padmé knew the truth. He buckled the utility belt that Obi-Wan had given him with short, economical movements of his hands. "I like being busy. I'm fine."

"Uh huh."

"Since you ask, I'm going to the factory." Sitting back on the bed, Anakin tugged on the only things he'd splashed out on credit-wise, a decent pair of boots. Dressed, he snagged his hooded robe and headed for the door, tossing over his shoulder, "I'll see you at the briefing later."

"I have a few deliveries, but I'll be there."

At the door, Anakin went still, hand hovering over the panel, but not touching the door release. A second ago all he'd wanted was to get out. Now he couldn't. Slowly, compelled, he turned back to Sal. "I need to ask you a favour."

A wary look came over the other man's face. "Alright, name it."

There was an infinitesimal pause while Anakin almost changed his mind. Inside him a tug of war raged. When it came right down to it, it wasn't in his nature to ask for help. He preferred doing what needed to be done in his own way, using his skills and instincts to defeat whatever obstacles were thrown at him. But this was different. His helplessness in the dream was still fresh. He forced the words out, "I need to ask you to look after Padmé if anything happens to me. If for some reason I can't."

If Anakin had thought Sal would simply offer a solemn acceptance of the charge, he was doomed to disappointment.

"Damn it! I knew you were gonna say something like that. You keep calling her name out in your sleep like your hearts being torn out." Agitated, Sal shot to his feet, raking a rough hand through his short, greying hair as he paced. "Look, I owe you, and I think you're a great guy, but don't be asking me to take on that responsibility. Do you think I can't see how you look at her? The pair of you might as well have _tragic lovers_ tattooed across your foreheads in screaming neon—" He jammed a thumb into his own chest, "—and you expect _me_ to protect her for you? I'm a has-been freight driver that managed to screw up everything decent in his own life. I'm nobody's idea of a bodyguard. Not anybody sane anyway."

"My dreams," said Anakin, carefully, brushing aside the tirade, "sometimes come true. The last time it happened, I tried to handle it alone and destroyed everything that mattered to me. Many people paid the price for my … arrogance. I can't let that happen again. In this dream, Padmé is in danger and I can't get to her in time. I need to know that someone is looking out for her."

"Damn, you just had to tell me that didn't you? What happened to being stoic and silent?" Sal visibly deflated, but he wasn't out for the count yet. "What about Freyrr," he asked desperately, "why don't you ask her?"

"Freyrr can't go into the Core. You can." Anakin could sense him weakening and pressed, "Stop selling yourself short. I wouldn't ask if I didn't think you could do it."

Gusting out a sigh, Sal gave in, ungraciously. "Fine. I'll keep an eye on her. Just do _me_ a favour and make sure that whatever's got you tied up in your dreams gets untied real quick."

o~o~o

He couldn't go to the temple, and all of his other haunts were similarly being watched. Zarc Wess was literally pissing himself with fear. He'd gone to ground instead. The recyclers outside the _Event Horizon_ restaurant were renowned for being the worst in the Core. Wess buried himself inside one, oblivious to the slime and stench. Sitting with his skinny arms around his knees, he rocked backwards and forwards, all the while muttering to himself in a near soundless whisper. His only company was a few dozen thumb-sized vermin with red eyes, twitching noses and clattering claws. They scurried around and over him as if he wasn't there. He had no idea how long he'd been inside the recycler, but dawn couldn't be far away. Fear, hunger and misery were a grinding ache in his gut. His whole body was quaking and he wished desperately for a bottle, even the rotgut whiskey they served at the Boja Bar.

He didn't bother to wonder why they were after him: he knew. Thanks to the Jedi and the pretty councillor, the secret was out and _they'd_ want to make sure that Wess didn't blab and make things even worse.

A hysterical giggle rasped his throat. They'd do terrible things to him if they knew he already had. "Too kriffing late. Too kriffing late. Can't take it back now, no." He shook his head from side to side, red-rimmed eyes demented, chin rasping on his bare knees in the stinking darkness. Mucous dribbled down unnoticed from his nose to his upper lip. "Nobody can take anything back. It always comes back to get you." At that, a keening sob worked its way up from his chest.

When the lid of the recycler was abruptly ripped up, blinding him with light, he screamed.

o~o~o

"The man who gave us the plans for the barrier said that the technology was a work of art: having examined them, I have to agree with him," said Anakin to the people encircling him and Ceetee. "It is also my opinion that the barrier is being used nowhere near to full capacity." He paused. "It's been set to exclude the Outer Rim for no good reason that I can tell. The power cells are fully rechargeable and in perfect working condition."

There were general mutters from the small, trusted group listening. Present from the council was Padmé, Oboné, and a newly introduced councillor Anakin hadn't met before called Saber Throm, as well as Freyrr, Lorne and Sal. The arena, the site of Maul's death, was their base of operations and jokingly renamed the 'factory'. It had seemed apt to use it since the site had seen the turning point in the battle against the Narzgh. Junga Roth was now energised and full of hope. Changes were happening at a phenomenal rate. Speeders, bikes and other small craft were up on ramps on the arena floor, either in-process or waiting to be converted to carry the new UV weapons currently in production at various locations in the Core. The track was a training ground for new recruits. Below ground, one of the surgical enclosures once used to treat injured swoop drivers had been converted into a conference room. The entire chamber was starkly white with a mixture of medical and communications apparatus huddled around. An empty bacta tank stood in one corner and the moulded examination platform had been pushed against a wall.

The briefing was already half over. Much to the gratitude of his audience, he'd wisely cut back on the technical jargon, probably due to eyes glazing over.

"So, you're telling us that Lyonides has been lying all of this time?" queried Oboné. She was sitting down in one of the chairs that had been scrounged from another part of the complex. Throm was also seated, with everyone else choosing to stand.

"Yes, and not just about that. I also believe that the barrier originally did more than just prevent rain from getting into the city." Anakin told Ceetee to change the image to a specific one he wanted shown. Once the little droid had done so, he pointed out some of the more complex modules. "See these flat surfaces here, there's a whole grid network of them. Each ones feeds into conductors via power conduits, eventually leading to an enormously powerful capacitor, which in turn, feeds to a currently inactive fusion reactor."

"Sounds great, but what does it do?" asked Sal, arms and legs crossed, leaning back and looking relaxed—even bored.

"I'm not sure, but given what we now know about the Narzgh and sunlight, I suspect that the large, flat panels are actually some kind of solar panels—a means of collecting and storing UV."

There was a stunned pause. "Not just a means of defence, but of offence," breathed Padmé, mind whirling. She looked over, catching Anakin's gaze. "If any Narzgh got in, they could be dealt with almost instantly."

A sudden charge in the room had everyone straightening, as if electrified.

"That's still supposition at the moment," Anakin cautioned with a frown. "I'm still not sure how the UV would be delivered to the barrier itself so that it could be filtered down." His frown dug deeper and he gestured at the slowly rotating image suspended in the air by Ceetee's holoprojector. "My best guess is that it must be some kind of fusion-powered chemical reaction. I need more time with the plans, and likely a visit to the barrier generator station and substations."

"They'll never let you near it." In his full dress robes, Throm was an earnest, jittery splash of shimmering colour. "Nobody gets near the barrier. The guards have authorisation to shoot to kill if anyone even approaches. They don't even try and make an arrest. It's instant execution, no excuses."

"Unfortunately, I agree, about the difficulty as well as the danger." Under the crisp white turban, Oboné's smooth, dark-skinned face was grave. "I remember when we managed to get most of the council to sign a petition requesting that a group of eminent scientists and engineers have a look at the barrier. Lyonides flatly refused, citing it was too risky."

"Then we have to overthrow Lyonides," said Padmé into the silence. To her mind it was the only plan of action that made any sense. The statement sent ripples of aftershock around the assembled group. Resolutely, she kept her gaze on Anakin, recognising from the shuttered look that came over his face that he was thinking along the same lines as she was—of the last time treason had come into their lives.

Then, they'd been on opposite sides.

"This is exactly what we've been looking for, and we can't let one man stand in the way." She moved to stand beside Anakin, the stiff skirt of her dress nearly brushing his robe. "Think about it," she continued. "Seventy years ago the city was perfectly capable of protecting its citizens, until suddenly it fails and the Narzgh go on a rampage of carnage, terror and destruction." She had everyone's attention. The others, barring Anakin, looked shell-shocked. "Out of the ashes, two men rise up to snatch power. Afterwards, there's always a portion of the population vulnerable to attack by the Narzgh whenever the demons want, _and not because there is no other choice as we've been led to believe_." She threw up her hands, frustrated with the blank faces. "Is no one else thinking what I'm thinking?"

"The slimy space-slugs cut a deal," growled Sal, shaking his head in disgust now that it had sunk in. "Millions of souls damned just so they can become top dogs."

"Then the son murders the father and takes the power all for himself," said Oboné, looking ill. Her lip curled, "Lovely familial relations, don't you think."

"Alright, so how do we take him down?" asked Sal, pushing away from the counter he'd been leaning against to pace. "Considering he has an army and we don't."

"It's not his army that concerns me," said Anakin, grimly, drawing all eyes his way. He folded his arms. "What concerns me is the identity of the Narzgh he's working with this time."

o~o~o

Selona Vere flicked the ash off the tip of her cigarette onto the floor next to her chair. Made up of a local leaf that some enterprising soul had dried and rolled, she used it to give her hands something to do. Even a hard-boiled reporter with a reputation for ruthlessness could get nervous on occasion. Selona was nervous now. She'd been to the palace lots of times, but never to _this_ part. Underground interrogation chambers, cutting folks off from anyone who might care to hear their screams. Heebie-jeebies or not, she'd still made a mental note of the room. Not that there was much to note. There were no windows or decoration of any kind. She was reminded of the Temple, except the chairs had a bizarrely techno-medical look about them and came with built in manacles.

Her elbow brushed one of them and she gave it a jaundiced look. "Oh joy! I do love some S and M."

Despite the joke, she shivered, then told herself to get a grip.

Sitting back in the chair, bare feet on the table and with her blonde hair tucked behind her ears, she was just blowing out a stream of grey smoke, and seeing how far she could get it, when the door in front of her swished open. Her heart gave a sickly lurch of fear. That annoyed her, so she sucked in another lungful of smoke, making the tip glow red. With her free hand, she waved, making the gesture as sarcastically friendly as possible.

When Giul Natar sat down opposite, she made sure he caught the smoke fully in the face. "Why am I here?" she asked, pointedly, dropping her feet back to the floor.

He merely started fiddling with his datapad. "Selona Verhandra, is that your full birth name?" he asked without looking at her.

She shrugged and flicked more ash, while her stomach rolled queasily. What did the colourless weasel want? "Yeah, what of it? I go by Vere now, by the way."

"I'm aware of that." Natar finally looked at her. "Your occupation is a journalist, is that correct?"

It was an effort not to roll her eyes. She answered while slipping her shoes back on. "Yes, you may have seen me on the holo some time. I hold the prime six o'clock spot over at JRN—the largest network in the city."

His bland smile was colder than his eyes. "I don't have time to waste watching the holonet."

He pulled a flimsy out of a file and pushed it across the table to her, saying, "Would you care for some refreshment before we begin?"

"Excuse me?" Bewildered for the first time in…well…years, Selona dropped her eyes to the menu to check that it was indeed neatly listing food and drink: it did. The cigarette continued to burn unnoticed.

Deciding to play the game, she chose the most costly items on the menu, her native Alderaanian merlot and the fricassee of lepu. Natar didn't so much as blink and simply relayed her order through his comm.

Dropping the smouldering butt on the floor, she ground it out with her heel and then folded her arms on the table to level a direct gaze at Natar. "Okay, I'm intrigued. You have my full and undivided attention. What in Chaos is this about?"

A small, evil smile played around Natar's lipless mouth. "What else? We have a story we want you to cover."

"About?"

"We'll get to that soon." He glanced back down at his datapad. "From your records, I note that you are from Alderaan and died when the planet itself was destroyed. That must have been … difficult for you?"

She flicked off death and grief as if it were a pesky bug. "I got over it. I wasn't getting anywhere there anyway. My co-workers were jealous of my drive and stunning looks." Leaning back, she gave him a smile of her own that was less than pleasant. "Ironically, my career really took off when I came here." She lifted a shoulder, the picture of nonchalance. "I've got no complaints."

The food and wine arrived and they waited for it to be served. From the speed of its arrival, Selona figured it had to have been zapped rather than freshly cooked. She tucked in anyway. Natar poured her a cup of wine. "What would you say if I told you that one of the men responsible for destruction of Alderaan is here in Junga Roth, right now?"

Across from him, Selona spoke through a mouthful of lepu. "Wilhuff Tarkin is here, in Roth?"

Annoyance flickered in Natar's eyes. "Not Tarkin, no. Try someone much more evil and sinister, such as, Lord Vader."

This time her jaw dropped completely. Green eyes bugging, she had to take a hurried sip of wine to help her swallow. "You have got be kidding me. Lord Vader, the man in black and the Emperor's personal club to smite at anyone that steps a toe out of line?"

Natar fairly oozed satisfaction. "The very same."

Incredulous, she shook her head. As far as she was concerned, he had to be yanking her tail. "I don't believe you. The things we heard about him practically made him a legend, and not in a good way. If anyone was looking for a definition of a heartless, evil killer they looked no further than Lord Vader. If he's dead, he would have gone straight down."

"Apparently not."

The wine and lepu were forgotten. "He's _here?_. You're sure?"

"There is no doubt."

Her palms were damp and her head was whirling, but she was still a reporter, and her job was to report the news. It was just a bonus to her that this piece of news had the same amount of impact as that damned Death Star. Then a thought occurred to her that had Selona frowning in disappointment. "What kind of a story are you after, the redemption angle?"

"Oh, no. Quite the opposite." Natar didn't elaborate, but then he didn't have to.

Selona nodded her head slowly. It seemed prudent to hide her surprise, and glee. "Alright, I get it. Fine. You need to give me a name, though. He won't have come through in that armour and mask of his, and no-one has seen his face. How can you know who he is?"

"Can you think of no distinctive characteristic? A weapon perhaps that he favoured?"

She tried to think, raking back through memories. "I heard about a red blade, similar to—" She trailed off, dumbstruck.

"And there you have the name."

"No way. No _kriffing_ way. Anakin Skywalker, everybody's favourite hero, is _Darth Vader_!"

The thing was, she already believed. It made a kind of weird sense. Vader had seemed unstoppable too. Shock held her frozen in place, and yet a kernel of excitement was already blooming in her belly. _Skywalker was Vader_. This was the story of _lifetimes_ plural, and she was going to be the one who broke it.

Natar seemed to read her thoughts. "You have three hours to pull together a broadcast detailing as many of Vader's worst crimes as you can. We want to remind everyone of exactly what this man has done. We want his name to be a curse on the lips of every citizen—this is your task." A second flimsy was pushed across the table. "To help you, I have here details of some of his less well known escapades as provided by a reputable source. There are also a few personal titbits that you might find _entertaining_." Natar stood and bowed. "Make it chilling, Ms Vere."

Her hand shook as Selona reached out to pick up the flimsy.

o~o~o

The planning was over, such as it was, and they all had things to accomplish. Mainly to find allies who could be trusted. Everyone agreed that they were in no position to make a move now.

Padmé waited until the others had filed out before approaching Anakin. She was nervous. Interactions between them had been strained ever since Maul. She'd apologised later for what she'd said in the Limidian, but it hadn't been enough to wipe out the damage done by both their kiss and her rash words. Twelve days later, she was still trying desperately to see it as a positive, necessary step back from danger.

Except that kiss was haunting her. And, so was the fact that she'd hurt him. Gods! She wished that she dared tell him that she loved him, but the possibility of Palpatine, the orchestrator of their doom in life, being here, only made it even more imperative that she keep her distance.

Didn't it?

"I'll be with you in a minute. I just want to get this done."

Anakin was hunkered down beside Ceetee, fiddling with some of the droids innards. An interface jack was plugged in between the astromech droid and a dataconsole.

"That's fine. No rush."

He was concentrating fully, allowing her to watch him without embarrassment while letting her thoughts continue along the same track.

To make matters worse, he wasn't avoiding her, quite the opposite. Anakin seemed to know where she was going to be almost before she did, and if it was in the Core, then he was right there at her side. Padmé suspected that Freyrr was in cahoots with him. Some of media, disgruntled that he refused to be interviewed, had started dubbing him her _personal_ bodyguard.

Ceetee gave a series of protesting beeps and Anakin apologised.

Forcing herself back to the present, Padmé noticed that Anakin's hood was inside out. She had to battle the urge to reach out and fix it, telling herself that such an action was too intimate and too ... wifely. Honestly forced her to add that it was also close to the thick, dark blonde hair at his nape that she had once loved to run her fingers through.

Her fingers actually curled with the memory, which led to another one—the kiss. It was like a switch being flipped. She felt again the sweetly invasive sweep and dip of his tongue, imitating another, more intimate joining. Dizziness and liquid heat swirled. She had to close her eyes and clench her thighs to make it subside.

"Are you all right?"

Padmé snapped her eyes open again and locked with confused, concerned blue. She felt a spurt of frustration. _Gods! Trust you to look up at just the wrong time_.

"I'm fine." It came out as a croak. Clearing her throat, she folded her hands in front of her and tried again. "I wanted to talk to you, alone."

She could tell that the 'alone' part of her statement caught his attention. Anakin straightened immediately, dismissing what he'd been doing with Ceetee. "About what?"

Padmé took a deep breath and dived right in. "I've been wondering. Is it worth considering telling the others the truth about your past … association with Sidious?"

As she'd expected, his brows snapped down and she held up a soothing hand, saying, "Just in case."

Anakin turned his back to her. The rigid set of his shoulders made it abundantly clear that this was the last topic he wanted to discuss. After a few steps, he swung back. "Between the two of us we've told them everything they need to know. What good would it do to tell them more? I can't do this alone, not both Lyonides and Sidious. I need their help. What if they turn away from me?"

"Are you so sure they would?"

She saw his eyes darken a moment before he said, "I can never bring myself to ask anyone where they came from originally. Can you guess why?"

"Anakin—"

He didn't let her finish. "Well I'll tell you why. I don't want to find out that at some point in the last two decades I laid waste to the lush, verdant planet they loved and either enslaved its people, or wiped them out."

She swallowed, distressed, momentarily silenced.

Anakin wasn't finished. "Do you also want to know why I don't look at anyone's face unless I have to, why I avoid eye contact with strangers? I don't want to walk into a room, or down a street and recognise a victim that _I_ sent here."

"I understand—"

His glare lanced her and one hand chopped the air. "No, you don't, you can't. I was _monstrous_, Padmé—_evil_, without conscience." He moved off to pace, not looking at her, at anything. She was stunned, realising that she'd opened a door concealing a maelstrom. He was a contained storm of guilt-ridden emotion. "My own lust for power, my greed, my selfishness, all led me to the dark side—and it twisted me into something even worse. I have no defence. How can I possibly explain any of it to anyone and not have them turn away in disgust?" Lifting a hand, he raked it through his hair. His voice cracked. "I would. If it was me, I would turn away."

The truth hurt her almost as much as did him, but still Padmé wanted to go to him so much she ached. Memories of long ago when she could have put her arms around him and held tight taunted her. She dug her nails into her skin instead and kept her tone matter of fact. "Probably, but then you always had a problem trusting."

"What do you mean?"

_You believed that the Jedi had betrayed you. You believed that Obi-Wan, the man you loved as a father, had betrayed you. It didn't matter how brightly our love shone, you believed that I had betrayed you to Obi-Wan. You could never accept in your heart of hearts that we loved you._

Padmé didn't say it, she didn't have the heart. "Nothing more than exactly what I've just said. You need to trust them. Yes, they may turn away initially, but I firmly believe that they'll also turn back. You're different now."

"Maybe you're right, but I can't risk it." He closed his eyes. His fists clenched. "No, that's not it. I'm scared of risking it. I'm a coward. I don't want to have to face them, or anyone knowing about my past." He opened his eyes again and found hers. She saw the shame and plea inside them. "I'm not ready, Padmé. I don't know if I'll ever be."

Padmé's heart twisted even harder. How could she push it when the idea so obviously tormented him? It took two steps to reach him and lay a hand on his arm. She had to tilt back her head to look into his face. "Alright, I'm sorry, I should have realised. I'm just scared. If Palpatine is here, he could reveal who you are. I was just trying to cushion that blow before it lands."

If possible his expression went even bleaker. "Lyonides knows."

"What?"

"Lyonides knows. It was something he said to me the night I went to confront him. He said that I_ hadn't always disdained power_. He tried to pass it off as if he meant the Jedi generally, but I don't believe him."

That news stole the breath from her lungs. "Anakin … that's—that's bad."

Anakin nodded. "I know." He tried to smile, making it more of a grimace. "I'll think about telling the others."

TBC

Note (4) After this chapter, everything starts to fall apart. Brace yourselves, folks *g*


	13. Chapter 13

**NOTES: **I'll apologise upfront for the shortness of this chapter and will try and get fourteen up a little sooner to make up for it.

Big thank you's to everyone for keeping up with this story!

ANON replies:

**LAL08** - A new update is below. I'm tickled that you're still enjoying it :)

**Chapter thirteen**

Lorne loved the lull between the lunch time crowd and the evening regulars, if for no other reason than it formed an important part of his 'me' time. Even an effervescent entertainer who adored crowds needed some downtime to unwind.

With an hour to go before he was due on stage, he was in the shower. Lather slid down green skin from spiked, blonde hair while he gyrated unabashedly to his own belted-out rendition of _I Will Survive_. The holonet had been left on in the den, adding to the background noise. During the fraction of a pause following the second chorus, he caught the word _Vader_. Shocked, he got a flashback of a mechanical rasp, black armour and an even blacker attitude. How was that for a mood killer—or should it be chiller? Puffing out the breath he'd just taken to launch back into song, Lorne frowned and shut off the steam, cocking his horned head to listen. Having substantially better hearing than the average human, he had no trouble in catching the name again.

He got an instant rash of goose-bumps.

Uh oh! _So_ not good. Grabbing his long robe and still dripping suds, Lorne made a beeline for the den. There, he found the not-so-admirably catty Selona Vere of JRN in full three-dimensional Technicolor, and looking unusually sombre, if you ignored the gleam in her green eyes.

_…The Premier's office is refusing to confirm or deny that the Falleen are in communication with palace officials. However, our source at the palace has hinted that, not only are they in communication with us, but they're demanding that the man responsible for killing hundreds of thousands of their people is handed over for justice. Indeed, the only element of this incredible story that doesn't appear in doubt is that Darth Vader, scourge of the galaxy, perpetrator of mass genocide and countless other heinous acts is_ _living amongst us in Roth. Even more shocking, he's seen by many to be a hero. More on this story after a short break. Don't go away_.

Lorne's jaw hit the deck. "Oh _crap_!"

Too caught up with what he was seeing, he didn't even notice that his whole apartment was beginning to vibrate.

ooo

They only had so many ramps, so Anakin was working on his back underneath a TS500 speeder. He was fitting a series of powerful UV generators to the undercarriage. The mid-evening sun was just beginning its descent and it was hot, dirty work. A bead of sweat trickled into his right eye, stinging, and he swiped it away. There were five other engineers all working with him on various vehicles, including Freyrr, who had a knack for mechanics that he'd learned to count on. On the encircling track, Sal and Padmé were training the pilots who would fly the speeders and bikes during raids, frying as many Narzgh as possible with each sweep. Built for use in city traffic, the smaller and much more manoeuvrable vehicles would be perfect for covering an urban landscape such as Junga Roth.

That was the plan anyway.

It was a hodgepodge operation that was a far cry from the vast resources and streamlined production of the Imperial war machine, but it was better than nothing, and it felt good to be finally getting _somewhere_. He was also fully aware that inactivity was the last thing he needed. As if to prove him wrong, the hydrospanner slipped and he scraped two knuckles on the lamp casing. Muttering a curse, he shook off the pain and told himself to be grateful that he had _hands_ to actually get dirty and bloody instead of soulless prosthetics. Another plus was that he'd rather be tinkering around with machinery than driving himself crazy chasing a phantom. The work also helped him think. While he fiddled with conduits and power cells, his thoughts swung between Padmé and Sidious.

Not that he got very far with either. He'd meditated for hours, opening himself up fully so as to feel any disturbance in the Force, no matter how minute. He'd searched every inch of the city and talked to every single one of Lyonides' entourage. It had been long, frustrating work without access to anything like the myriad network of spies he'd employed as Vader. No one knew anything. As infuriating as it was to admit, he was forced to concede that there was no hint of his old master anywhere. Worse, it was impossible to make plans when he didn't know from where, or how, his enemy would strike. Just as they'd agreed in the meeting, all they could do was recruit as many allies as possible and wait for the right opportunity. Force! He _loathed_ waiting. Even now frustration simmered in his blood, waiting for that moment when his control would slip so that it could flood his mind and make him do something rash.

As for Padmé…

Effortlessly, her beautiful face formed in his mind's eye. His heart skipped and then lurched in his chest. His fingers fumbled the final connection of wires between power cell and generator, causing it to spark ominously.

Padmé was tearing him apart in so many different ways, he was struggling to hold himself together. The nightmares he'd been having were a constant horror lurking at the back of his mind, waiting to pounce, but they weren't the only torment. For a few brief seconds when they'd kissed, hope had soared inside him, only to have that hope wither and die a little more each day since.

_At least I know that I won't end up a slavering beast intent only on maiming and killing_.

He didn't blame her for saying it: it was true, but it had driven a wedge between them. From that moment on, she'd pulled back from him, and the look in her eyes when she looked at him—wariness. It was as if she was afraid that he might get it into his head to try and force his attentions on her.

As if he would ever do that to her. He had more self-control than that. He would never…didn't she _know_ that?

Anakin's breath shuddered in his chest. Clenching his jaw, he squinted against the threat of tears and got back to trimming the wire, something he should have done _before_ trying to connect to the generator.

She was driving him crazy. _So focus_!

His love for her hadn't changed, and the fact that she could hold herself back from him with so little effort was another knife twisting in his belly. He didn't understand how she could _do_ that!

_Don't think about it. Keep busy. Concentrate on what you have to do_.

What _did_ he have to do?

Confess to the others his past as Vader.

Wonderful. Another painful subject.

Padmé was right about that too. He hated the idea, but he knew she was right. They were good people and deserved to know who was standing beside them as they risked their lives. He just hadn't figured out the 'how' and 'when'. He kept tripping up on the details. Should he talk to them individually or as a group? Mostly he preferred the idea of a group confession—get it over and done with—but their likely reaction still made his guts clench. He was procrastinating and Anakin knew it. A part of him even resented having to reveal his past at all—deeply resented it. Why couldn't he be left alone to battle for his redemption? Wasn't he doing enough already without baring everything…?

Anakin shook his head, forcefully dismissing that line of thought. No. It had to be done. He knew it was the right thing to do. And, doing the right thing, no matter how painful, was a habit that he needed to get back into.

Soon, he promised himself, expression grim. Tonight.

A strange vibration coming from the ground under his back yanked him out of his introspection. The Force had been oddly edgy and expectant all morning, making him jittery along with it. Uneasy, Anakin pulled himself out from under the speeder to locate the source of the tremors in a more conventional manner. He wasn't the only one who'd noticed. A glance around showed that most of the others had also halted work to look around them too. They didn't have to search far. Overhead, a ship far larger than anything he'd seen so far in the second world was descending through the haze of cloud clover. The ship dwarfed the kilometres-wide arena below it. Even before it was fully visible, he realised that it was easily the size of a capital ship, or mid-range battle cruiser.

He sensed Sal come up behind him. "Do you recognise it?" Anakin asked, tightly. The uneasiness was creeping along his veins now. Again, he probed the Force and came up with no _discernible_ threat, it was too unspecific for that. He wasn't reassured.

Sal used the fingers of one hand to scratch at his whiskery jaw. He hadn't bothered shaving that morning. "I'm not a hundred percent, but I think it's the Falleen. No-one else I've traded with bothers with ships that big—it's not worth it with only dead space and a few wasted stars to explore."

"Falleen." Anakin felt numb as suspicion crashed down on him. He saw himself as Vader standing on the bridge of the _Exactor_, coldly watching the so-called sterilisation of a large Falleen city after his biological experiment had broken containment. The orbital bombardment had been thorough, and devastating. He saw again the mushroom clouds of billowing, explosive fire—a ravenous dragon consuming everything in its path. At the time, he'd considered the deaths of hundreds of thousands a small price to pay to prevent a plague. Since then a number of Falleen had tried to exact revenge. Numerous attempts had been made on his life.

The conscience that had been absent that day threatened to choke him now. His dreams were filled with a parade of his victims, but he'd caused so much death, grief and misery over his years as a Sith Lord that his sub-conscious hadn't gotten around to the Falleen yet—until now. He should have tried to evacuate them and set up a screening process for any contagion. He hadn't done either of those things: he'd just killed them. He'd created the threat and then wiped thousands of people out of existence as easily as if _they_ too had been nothing more than a virus needing to be purged. _A despicable, monstrous act_. Useless tears burned behind his eyes.

Sal didn't notice his anguish. "I don't know what they're playing at coming in so low. It's a heck of an aggressive manoeuvre for them. They normally stick to themselves and settle for acting superior from a distance." He grinned, digging the pitted scars in his face even deeper. "Do you think they're trying to tell us something?"

"This is something to do with me."

Both of Sal's brows shot up. "Look, kid, I hate to burst your bubble, but not everything is to do with you."

"I didn't mean it like that." The numbness had spread to every muscle. _He'd left it too late to tell the others he was Vader._ He _knew_ it. Certainty was like lead in his heart.

On cue, a pair of shuttles came into view, flying over the retracted roof to come into land. The insignia of Lyonides' security service was easily visible on both. His first sight of the Falleen ship had given him a jolt, but it was the shuttles that truly resonated through the Force—ringing with danger. The expectancy he'd been sensing all day was tightening with every beat of his heart, reaching snapping point.

Spotting the fact that they had visitors too, Sal's mocking grin faded. He slid Anakin a sharp glance. "Okay, my mistake. Maybe it is something to do with you."

Anakin was so frozen that he didn't sense Padmé and Freyrr until Padmé's hand settled on his arm. He jumped, staring at her blankly. "What is it," she asked him, concern etched onto her face. Her fingers squeezed, offering comfort and demanding an answer. "Ani, what's the matter?"

Anakin shook his head. She looked back at the first shuttle and her brows snapped down into a frown. "I've seen that lead shuttle before. It belongs to—no—how can that be?" Her hand dropped, and shock widened her eyes. "What would Natar be doing coming here?"

Nobody ventured a guess. Everything was happening too fast.

Another pair of transport craft came into view behind the first. They didn't come into land, instead remaining airborne to patrol the sky over the arena. The mounted armament on the half-folded wings was clearly visible and their mission objective needed no explanation. Escaping in the Limidian or any of the speeders was now impossible without risking a collision or being shot down.

As if to reinforce that fact, they all heard the rhythmic march of inhuman feet. In perfect synchronisation hundreds of bulky super battle droids emerged out of the regularly spaced audience tunnels on the first tier of the encircling stands. They spread out. Ominously, their right forearms were extended, unerringly aiming the twin cannons mounted inside the arm at the small band of people on the grounds.

They were effectively surrounded.

ooo

Padmé fought Sal's grip on her arm, but found she couldn't break free. Fury bubbled under her skin, stoked by panic. She hadn't realised what Anakin was telling the other man do to until Sal had grabbed her and begun pulling her away before the shuttles had a chance to land. Anakin had even handed his lightsaber to the other man. She rounded on Sal. "Get your hands off me. I want to go to Anakin. This is _crazy_!"

Craggy face as grim as death, Sal shook his head and continued to pull her away. "Sorry, Councillor, I don't know what in chaos is going on, but he wants us to get out of here." He was literally dragging her along. "If you think I like this, I've got a newsflash for you, I don't. But, something tells me to listen to him. I trust my instincts." He grimaced. "Not to mention I made some stupidass promise—"

The droids were ignoring them, confirming that they were here only for Anakin. Turning his head, he bellowed for the others to get underground and head for the emergency exits. His gravelly 'or else' tone got them moving without protest. The only exception was Freyrr. After Maul and her banishment from the Core, the Wookiee had given up trying to look harmless. She now wore the armour favoured by her kind and there was a deadly looking blaster carbine in her huge hands. As she loped along beside them, she growled menacingly at Sal. The translation was simple. As well as not liking this abrupt change in circumstances, she was strongly objecting to Padmé being manhandled.

Sal ignored the Wookiee, likely trusting that she wouldn't shoot him.

Face flushed red, Padmé dug in her heels. A frantic glance back showed that Anakin was almost at Natar's shuttle, surrounded by armed troopers. The sight made her heart stutter. _What was going on? Why was he being arrested?_ "Your instincts are wrong," she snapped at Sal. He _had_ to listen to her. "Listen to me. I know him. Anakin wants us out of the way because he knows he's in real danger." A glimmer of understanding had her adding, "Either that or it's some kind of stupid guilt complex. He needs us."

"What he doesn't need is us all being arrested. We can't help him if we're stuck in the cell next to him, now can we?"

While she was arguing with Sal, Padmé kept an eye on what was going on back at the shuttle. She saw Natar himself step off the shuttle ramp to meet Anakin. He was wearing a smile that was sickeningly satisfied even at a distance. She couldn't remember the last time Natar had personally visited the Outer Rim for any reason. The implication was terrifying.

"For Gods sake I'm on the Council. I may be able to help him _now!_"

Her certainty made Sal hesitate. Padmé took advantage and finally managed to wrench herself free. She lunged far enough away to avoid recapture and then sprinted across the cracked ferrocrete of the arena floor. Behind her, Sal cursed and pursued. Voicing her confusion and anger, Freyrr followed.

Heart pumping, she reached for more speed. A few meters ahead, she saw Natar's bald head jerk towards the shuttle, ordering the troopers to take Anakin on board. Gods. No! She was going to be too late. He was on the ramp now and about to disappear. She couldn't understand it. What was he _doing_ just going quietly? He'd done nothing wrong. They had no right. None of this made any sense.

She was almost there. _"Anakin!"_ His name was wrenched from her.

Anakin looked back once—caught her eyes—and then let himself be led inside. She stumbled to a panting stop a few feet from a still smiling Natar. He'd waited for her to catch up and his gloating face made her blood boil dangerously. It was lucky she wasn't armed or she might have been tempted to shoot him. As it was, she had to curl her nails into her palms to stop herself from leaping on him. Sal and Freyrr came up on either side of her.

Spitting mad, she snarled, "I demand to know why Skywalker has been arrested."

If possible, Natar's smile widened. "You are in no position to make demands, Amidala."

He hadn't given Padmé her title. Freyrr noticed too and was aggressive in voicing her disapproval. Reaching back to grab the Wookiee's wrist, she squeezed it in a mute request for quiet. Sal was right. They were in no position to take on the city's security forces in a fight. Damn it!

"What kind of a fool," Padmé said to Natar, wanting desperately to use more than words to rip into him, "arrests a man that the people believe can save them from the threat of being dragged down into eternal torment?" It gave her immense satisfaction to add, "You've just made the worst mistake of your career. There'll be riots. The people will demand his release."

"There are already riots," Natar informed her, silkily, "And nobody is asking for Skywalker's release, quite the opposite. In a very real sense, he's being detained for his own safety."

That statement robbed her of breath. She could feel the colour leech out of her skin. "What are you talking about?"

Instead of answering directly, Natar bowed his leave-taking. "I suggest you catch up with the today's news broadcasts," he left a delicate pause, "Lady Vader." Colourless grey eyes swept over Sal and Freyrr, including them. "I'm sure you'll find them as informative as the rest of the population."

Turning on his heel with a swish of black robes, Natar left them enveloped in a stunned silence. Reeling, Padmé felt as if she might shatter at the slightest touch. No-one spoke. Numbly, she watched the ramp retract back inside the shuttle. It was tears that burned her eyes rather than the churning air caused by the rise of a powerful repulsorlift engine. Long strands of dark hair had come loose during training, and they whipped around her face unnoticed as she watched the shuttle rise, paralysed by a sudden sense of hopelessness.

_Oh, Anakin…_ She couldn't finish the thought because his stark, tormented expression of the night before rose up to haunt her. Her throat felt tight and lined with sharp, acidic sand. Now she understood why he hadn't resisted arrest. If his identity as Vader was all over the holonet, what would be the point?

Finally someone spoke. "What did he just call you?" It was Sal.

"It doesn't matter." To her own ears, Padmé's hollow voice sounded as if it came from a great distance. "We need to follow and find out what Lyonides is planning." Blindly, she turned to head for the Limidian, currently tucked away in the West corner. Directly over it, the sun was finally setting, visibly lengthening the shadows that stole both light and warmth.

Puffing and already red-faced from the previous dash, Sal had trouble keeping up with her. "If you understand any of this, I'd appreciate being enlightened?" Aggravation was clear in his tone.

"I can't tell you." The tears burned more viciously. She blinked them away and kept running. "You'll find out soon enough." A new fear snuck a fresh dart into her heart. She wondered if Anakin's prediction that his friends would desert him might come true.

"Is this anything to do with the nightmares he's been having?"

That query stopped Padmé in her tracks. For the second time in as many minutes, her world tilted. She felt as if she'd been sucker-punched. "He's been having nightmares!"

ooo

They'd drugged him. The second he'd stepped inside the shuttle, one of the troopers had produced a pressure injector and jammed it into his neck. Anakin had knocked it aside, but it was too late. As if a switch had been flipped, his vision fogged and his head began to spin. The helmeted heads of the troopers had whirled in a sickening kaleidoscope. Stumbling, he'd fallen to the floor on his hands and knees, vomiting. After that, the shuttle journey had been nothing but a nightmarish blur.

Apart from those few terse words with Natar in the grounds of the arena, nobody had asked him any questions, or offered any explanations. The latter were unnecessary anyway.

He was in a cell now, manacled to an interrogation chair and encased in a containment sphere. They were taking no chances. He could have told them it was unnecessary. He'd been given a second dose of the drug once the restraints were snapped in place. He'd had no more chance of evading that one than the first. He recalled harsh, mocking laughter and the disorienting wave of voices that alternately boomed and faded. Alone, his head lolled, too heavy for his neck. Sickness roiled. His limbs felt alien to his body, and while he could feel the Force, he was incapable of cohesive enough thought to reach out and use it. Anakin was completely helpless. Over the buzzing in his ears, one voice remained. It faded in and out, but was still a litany of torment coming from a flat viewscreen that he couldn't even focus on.

"… a harbinger of death and suffering …Evil …Vader, brought terror to an entire galaxy. Hated and feared … Mothers and fathers, lovers and spouses, sons and daughters killed or maimed … list of truly heinous crimes is unequalled. Thousands have already come forward with their personal tales of atrocity and horror… "

He had no way of shutting it out. He would have welcomed any amount of pain in place of that voice. He could feel his sanity slipping with every truth uttered in a calculating, condemning tone. He had no defence, nothing to hold onto. His moans scraped his throat.

He could face anything, but reliving the evil that had been his life—that he'd _done_.

TBC


	14. Chapters 14 & 15 Two for one!

AUTHOR RESPONSES

**ANON Replies: **

**mlhkvh5 – **Hugs you. Thanks once again for the lovely review. I'm tickled that you're still enjoying the story. More is below and a larger post as promised.

**Note (1)**: Sorry for the confusion over chapter 14. A day or two after posting it, I noticed some weird format type errors that I just couldn't fix, so ended up removing. I meant to put it back up sooner, but RL got in the way. Hopefully, I've managed to fix the problem---also as the timing is about right, I'm posting chapter 15 as well.

**Note (2)**: There is a scene in chapter 14 where I've used an element of one of HC's newer movies, _'Jumper'_ as inspiration. If you've seen the movie, you should spot it.

**Note (3)**: Credit to Wookieepedia for the info on the Falleen.

**Chapter Fourteen**

"Explain to me what I'm hearing!" Sal demanded. There was banked fury in his eyes and his wiry hair had funnels in it from his fingers raking through it.

It wasn't the first time he'd made the demand, or been the only one to make it. Padmé had put them off until they reached her apartment in the Transvision Tower. Now that they were inside, and away from prying eyes and ears, she was out of excuses. Grimacing in sympathy, Lorne gave her a reassuring pat on the back on his way to the kitchen and the small bar she kept stocked there.

Padmé was grateful beyond measure that they'd met the Pylean at the detention centre. It had been the only good thing to come out of that wasted trip. They hadn't been allowed near Anakin. All they could find out was that he'd been 'voluntarily' detained for reasons of security, and that she'd been removed from the council and stripped of her authority pending a hearing. The exact reasons for both had not been forthcoming. She'd been rooted too deep in icy shock to even protest her sudden lack of status. Not that she would have got anywhere. Lyonides was in full dictator mode, and using the Falleen ship and Anakin's unmasking as both cloak and excuse. That knowledge along with gut-churning worry for Anakin, had dominated the two hours, wearing her down to the point of wanting only to curl into a ball and weep—instead, she was going to have to bare her soul.

So be it.

Folding trembling hands in front of her, Padmé stiffened her spine and took a deep breath before turning to face the bewildered and angry faces of Sal Trent, Oboné and Saber Throm. They were standing in tight a group at the threshold of her formal receiving room. Freyrr had been unable to come. Unlike Lorne, she stood no chance of being able to disguise her non-human status, even in the current furore.

She didn't bother inviting anyone to sit; the mood of the group was too volatile. "It's true," she stated baldly. "In life, Anakin _was_ Darth Vader."

The stunned silence told her they'd been hoping against hope for something along the lines of a deniable smear campaign by Lyonides.

"That makes no sense," said Sal flatly. Hands on hips, he shook his head, refusing to believe it. He started to pace, never taking his eyes off Padmé. "I might have died before he came on the scene, but I've heard about Vader." Furious, he stabbed a finger at her. "He was a stone-cold killer, and that's putting it nicely."

The others murmured their agreement. Oboné's face was shuttered to the point of being stony, while poor Throm looked utterly pole-axed. Anger rose in the room so sharply, she could almost taste it. Domed head whirling from one face to the other, Ceetee merely toodled nervously, obviously sensing the spiralling tension.

"I can't deny that, but you need to give me a chance to explain," she spread her hands, "_please_!"

Nobody moved, either to leave or take a seat. She took it as a good sign and a willingness to listen, and at this point, didn't dare hope for more.

Padmé had no problem seeing the whole situation from their point of view. Like her, they were all struggling to overcome shock, but at least she'd known about Anakin's past. She understood that to the others this was a double blow, layered as it was with the belief that they'd been deceived. She willed her mind to calm, knowing she needed every last drop of her oratory skills to make this mess make sense to them.

She just wished they'd sit.

"Before we get to Vader, I want you to understand that Anakin _was_ a powerful Jedi. He was also a good man, and a brave one. He did all of the heroic deeds that you've heard about. He was the man you know now, only less … experienced."

"I'll say."

She ignored Sal's snide aside and ploughed on. "I knew him—more—I loved him and he loved me. It was forbidden by the Jedi code, but we married in secret at the very beginning of the Clone Wars." She glanced at Oboné, and saw a stronger flicker of hurt cross her friends face. "I'm sorry I lied to you," she offered, softly, hurting too. Shame washed over her. She twisted her hands, fighting tears. Rather than make excuses, she got back to the past. Her voice turned husky. "It was Chancellor Palpatine who twisted him into a monster. We didn't know Palpatine was a Sith lord until it was too late. He'd been poisoning Anakin's mind for years—decades—grooming him to fall to the dark side."

"The dark side of what?" asked Throm, surprisingly brusque.

"The Force," Padmé explained. "It's where the Jedi get their powers."

Realising just how crucial it was that they understood the next part, she paused to marshal her thoughts.

"Like many, until I met Anakin, I didn't know much about the Jedi. They were a mystery, a living legend. Even now I don't fully understand a lot of it. All do know is that there is both a light and a dark side to the Force. The Jedi follow the light, nurturing peace and harmony, respecting all life, cultivating compassion and selflessness. The Sith were their opposite in every way, craving power above all else and stopping at nothing to get it. The Jedi and the Sith were mortal enemies. There have been battles between the two sides going back millennia's. At the time that I met Anakin, the Jedi believed that the Sith were extinct. They were wrong, and it was there undoing."

"Alright, say for the sake of argument I'm buying this hocus-pocus," interjected Sal, still pacing, too angry to settle. "What's it got to do with a man going from peace-loving guru to commander-in-chief of psychoville?"

"He has a point," agreed Throm. "It doesn't make sense."

"She's getting to that." Lorne came back, carrying a tray of drinks and aiming an admonishing glare at a prowling Sal. "How about we all get comfortable for the big expose, huh?"

Lowering the tray to the acre-wide marble table between the twin, curved sofas, Lorne flapped his hands at them. "C'mon. Sit. Take a load off, I guarantee that you'll need it."

If nothing else, the interruption broke a few chips off the ice blanketing the room. Obediently, if reluctantly, the tight knot of people dispersed to find seats.

Settling onto one of the cushions, Padmé smiled gratefully when Lorne took a seat next to her and handed her a tumbler filled with something amber-coloured and potent. Oboné and Throm took the couch opposite. Obviously deciding that Padmé needed the support, Ceetee trundled over to her other side. She was now flanked and it helped enormously.

Sal opted to remain standing, although he did swipe up one of the other cups. He downed it in one and then glared at the empty bottom.

Relaxing a fraction, Padmé began again, picking up from where she'd left off. "A few months before the end of the Clone Wars and the birth of the empire, Anakin started having nightmares. He'd had visions before that came to him in dreams. He saw his mother suffer and die—tragically, they turned out to be true. He loved his mother and losing her almost destroyed him. He blamed himself for not acting sooner, or being strong and powerful enough to protect her—he was young and angry and never recovered from that devastating loss."

It hurt her to realise just how true that was. _Anakin had been damaged from that day on and she hadn't truly recognised it._

"These new dreams scared him because they were about me." A sharp twist of grief forced her to pause. Gods. Just thinking back to that time made the lump in her throat swell to triple the size. It was like looking back through fogged glass at a blurred version of herself—a version who was happy and wrapped up in what was going on inside her body. She had to swallow and then force herself to speak, "I was pregnant and he dreamed that I would die in childbirth."

She mustn't have hid her distress very well. Oboné's face softened. "And did you?"

Padmé gave her a wobbly smile. "Not exactly. Palpatine, who was actually a Sith lord called Darth Sidious, used Anakin's fear of losing me. He revealed himself to him and told him lies about knowing a way to save me. He made Anakin think that his only choice was to watch me die, or learn the power of the dark side. At first Anakin refused. He even told the Jedi Council of Palpatine's true identity, but then it all went wrong. The Jedi masters sent to arrest the then Chancellor were at the point of killing him when Anakin turned up. You have to understand that before this Palpatine had been like a beloved uncle to him—then there was his belief that only Palpatine knew a way of saving me, and that if he died, I would surely die to."

"He stopped them from killing this Palpatine," guessed Throm. Now his temper had dispersed, his nerves were back, and bad enough that he was practically vibrating. He had an excuse. If they weren't fugitives yet, they soon would be. Padmé knew Lyonides well enough to expect it.

"Yes, at a terrible cost. Palpatine, who was actually Sidious, killed the last of the Jedi masters present, making Anakin culpable too because of his actions." Despite her best efforts to remain composed, Padmé felt the tug on her heart at this reciting of the past. "He must have felt so torn and lost, I can't even imagine it. That was the turning point. Sidious offered him a final choice to join him and save me, or go back to the Jedi order whom he'd already betrayed. Anakin chose to save me."

"He must have loved you very much," said Oboné.

"He did—"

"Does," interjected Sal and Lorne in tandem.

"—Too much. He simply could not face another loss. If it hadn't been for me, and his fear of my death, he would never have fallen to the darkness. Anakin would have remained the hero he was supposed to have been and Vader would never have come into being."

"You're not responsible, you know," said Oboné gently. "Whatever he did, that's on him, not you or anyone else. He made a horrendously bad choice."

"I know that, but—" Padmé simply couldn't explain her own feelings of guilt, so she didn't try. "After I died, I asked another Jedi how a decent, honourable person could become someone so twisted so horribly quickly. I _needed_ to understand." Qui-Gon's face swam before her, his eyes sorrowful. She recalled the pain of that time as a lance through the heart. "He told me that once a Jedi turns to the dark side it consumes them in moments, like a poison of the heart and mind, eradicating mercy and intoxicating them with power. From that moment on, the good man Anakin had been was gone—lost, subjugated, dead—and Darth Vader was christened by his new master. He did terrible things…"

"I have a question for you," quipped Lorne when she trailed miserably off. "How did he end up in the black armour? I mean—is it just me who can't see _that_ ensemble as a fashion statement?"

Against the odds, Padmé's lips twitched—just as he'd intended¬—yet, this was also a sore spot. "Another Jedi called Obi-Wan Kenobi had survived the massacre at the temple and the traps laid by Sidious' troops. He hunted Anakin down on a lava planet. I was there too. An—Vader and I argued, and in his rage, he hurt me. Afterwards, there was a duel and Vader was grievously wounded. Sidious had to practically rebuild his body with prosthetics and he needed a permanent life support system simply to breathe."

Sal finally sat down, staring moodily at his out-stretched legs. "Doesn't sound like a barrel of laughs."

"Some might say he deserved it," suggested Oboné sombrely.

"Some might," agreed Padmé, tiredly. "I died that same day, within moments of my twins being born. I hadn't been seriously hurt, but I'd lost the will to live. Anakin had ripped my heart out and I didn't know how to fix it. I didn't have the strength to carry on and I just … faded."

Their unspoken shock at her statement raked a nerve that had been festering for over twenty years. She could read it on their faces. They found it hard to believe that she'd given up on life just after bringing two new lives into the world. Well, so did _she_. She got to her feet so fast her head spun. She couldn't bear to look at them and see them judge her. Arms crossed defensively over her chest, it was her turn to pace.

Her voice was clipped when she said, "I've worked hard never to let myself get that weak ever again. It cost me the chance to be there for my children. I have a son and a daughter that I've never been able to hold, or tell them I loved them and I'm sorry for leaving them, and I never will." She shot a glare at Sal, parroting his words back at him acidly. "Knowing that hasn't been a barrel of laughs either."

There was an embarrassed pause and Padmé felt her face heat with a flush at the realisation that she'd just over-reacted. She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. Blame it on a really bad day."

Flashing her a look with more than a hint of sympathy, Oboné rescued her. "Okay, so we now know how Anakin turned evil, but you still haven't explained what came after, and how he ended up here and not a Narzgh."

"I only know sketchy details. I spent the first year after death in the first world. When I couldn't stand seeing what he'd turned into any longer, I exiled myself here."

There were more recoils of shock. Sitting up straight, Sal voiced what they were all thinking, "Whoa! Back up. You went to the _first_ world, and then left it? What, you hopped on a shuttle one day? Are there return tickets?"

"Those in the first world have a lot more freedom than those in the second," Padmé explained. A headache was brewing at the back of her head, an ever tightening vice that she attempted to massage away. She sank back into her seat. "We can pass through the veil to the living world as spirit-shades, or slip through to this one as real people. I chose to come here and stayed. I've been here so long that I'm not even sure if I can pass back again. I've never tried. I do know though that if I die here, I'll return to the first world and won't have the strength to pass through again. The warnings I've been given are explicit on that."

"Back to Anakin not being a Narzgh," prompted Lorne while everyone else was still goggling. "He must have landed on one humdinger of a get-out-of-jail-free card. I don't suppose you know who dealt it?" He shrugged when four sets of quizzical eyes swung his way. "That bit was fuzzy when the princess here was singing. Call me curious."

"Anakin told me that our son Luke saved him—that his love for our son broke through the darkness and brought him back to the light." Padmé's gaze turned inward. She desperately wished that she could visualise that scene. "Vader was gone and Anakin was back. He sacrificed himself to kill Sidious, the emperor, and saved Luke. Apparently that sacrifice was enough to earn him a chance to redeem and he was sent here." She shrugged, admitting, "I'm not sure why he came through looking exactly as he did when Sidious first turned him into Vader—maybe, he did die at that point and this is just a balancing of the scales. I really don't know, and we haven't exactly been…chatty on the topic."

"This Sidious," said Sal, "he's the same guy that Anakin thinks is pulling Lyonides' strings, right?"

"Yes. Obviously, he died at the same time as Anakin. It's certainly possible that he's escaped the hell of the third world during a Narzgh raid and is using his dark side powers to remain here instead of being forced back where he belongs." Padmé's stomach cramped with terror just thinking about it. "It would go a long way to explaining why things have escalated so much in the last four months."

"And these new nightmares…is Anakin gonna go back to black because you might be at risk." The others sat up straighter when Sal asked that question, eyeing her sharply.

She kept it brief and concise. "No. I haven't let him get close enough that losing me is an issue."

Sal looked sceptical. "That's what _you_ think."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Padmé bristled.

After a tense moment, Sal's eyes dropped from hers and he shrugged."Nothing. Never mind."

Dismissing him, Padmé looked back at the others. Now seemed as good a time as any to get to the point, so she did exactly that. She leaned forward. "We have to save him. We have to find a way to get him out of there. It's obvious that Lyonides has arranged this and is planning on handing Anakin over to the Falleen. We can't let that happen."

An uncomfortable silence followed. No-one would meet her eyes.

Padmé felt sick at the thought of trying to rescue Anakin alone. It would be impossible. She _needed_ them. She waited until the lengthening silence forced them to look at her. "I know that you're shaken, and that the stories are damning. I'm not denying that as Vader, Anakin committed atrocities, but he's trying to redeem—just like everyone else." She had no idea if she was getting through to them. Raking a hand through her now loose hair, Padmé wracked her brains for a way to appeal to them. "He was planning to tell you all himself, but he ran out of time before he could work up the nerve. I'm not excusing what he did, or asking you to. I'm asking you to remember that he's _not_ Vader anymore. You _know_ how hard he's fought to save lives and make a difference—to atone. Don't turn your back on him, I'm begging you. Please, you have to help me, help him."

o~o~o

Zarc Wess did not want to wake up. Unfortunately, he didn't have a choice. Even before his eyelids flickered open, terror-soaked adrenaline was shooting through his veins, bringing him alert. His heart was already thudding and meagre muscles aching. His chains clanked when he started to trembled violently. His manacles were attached to a long chain, letting him squat on the filthy floor rather than hang on the wall. The ancient restraints were crude but effective. He could only imagine the fiery agony of days spent hanging from the wrists.

He knew he was lucky. At least he could cover his ears and cower on the floor until eventually falling into a fitful doze. Only, he hadn't fallen asleep, he remembered, but had passed out at the point where he simply couldn't take it anymore, and it hadn't even been him who was being tortured. Wess squeezed his eyes shut again at the memory, refusing to look and willing his mind to shut down again. He didn't want to see her. He couldn't bear it. Obscenely horrific images assaulted his mind. Nerves already shot, bile spat up into his mouth. Quaking, he actually considered smashing his head on the floor in the hope of making it all go away again.

Sobs choked and whined in his throat. Even so, he had his ears pricked for any signs of life down here in hell with him. There were none. _Oh Gods! She was dead. The old woman was dead._

All of a sudden, he had to know if he was truly alone now. _He had to know_. Bracing himself with his arms wrapped around his waist, Zarc shuffled to sit upright and opened his eyes. Inch by inch, he dragged his gaze to where the old woman who'd called herself Tenku had hung. What he saw had him screaming, screaming, and screaming. Madness skittered, howling, at the edges of his mind. He couldn't stop screaming.

She was very definitely dead, but Wess wasn't alone.

o~o~o

Freyrr met them outside the laundromat they'd been given as a meeting point. Sandwiched on one side by a massage parlour, and a sexual aids store on the other, the cleaning service looked incongruously tame in comparison. Padmé didn't care. She was just glad to see her friend after the nightmarish day they'd had. It was also the first time she'd seen the Wookiee since the news had broken. _Gods! Was it only a few hours ago?_ Padmé embraced her and tears stung her eyes when the hug was returned. Pulling back, she looked up the long way necessary to see Freyrr's face, and found none of the censure she'd been dreading—just loyalty and calm acceptance.

Under the cloak of her hood, she smiled tremulously. "It's good to see you old friend."

Freyrr's soft rumble was equally affectionate.

Similarly concealed under a hood, Sal looked uneasily over both shoulders and then nodded at the laundromat. "C'mon, let's not loiter. We probably reek _fugitives_ and the _Hole_ is lousy with folks that would love to take advantage of that fact."

Taking point, Freyrr growled a little when the doors swished automatically apart when she approached. Before they'd even stepped inside, the three of them were hit with a wall of overpowering odours. It was the intermingled stench of wet, dirty laundry, detergent and exhaust steam from the dozens of washers churning away in uniformed rows.

"Looks like somebody's home," commented Sal, sotto-voice.

"There'd better be, since you set up this meeting," Padmé hissed back. "I hope this doesn't turn out to be a wild bantha chase."

"You and me both, Councillor."

Inside, they lowered their hoods and walked in single file between the rows of humming machinery. Flexible pipes the size of a man's thigh snaked and wormed their way down from the ceiling to feed each washer individually. They resembled mutant space worms scavenging on ship wreckage. It was stiflingly hot and the floor was covered in gritty quator sand to soak up the moisture from the regular billows of hot, damp steam.

On the far wall, tucked away in a corner was a doorway marked, _Staff Only—No admittance beyond this point_. From what they'd seen there was no other viable option. Giving a what-the-hell shrug, Sal hit the door release. The door slid up and on the other side stood a smiling Besalisk.

Padmé used her left hand to lower Freyrr's blaster muzzle. Wookiee's don't generally like surprises. "You must be the one called Jester, is that correct?"

In response, the Besalisk raised all four of his arms, a show of welcome and to prove that he wasn't armed himself. "That's right, Ma'am. I get called that on account of a penchant for … well, let's just say humour and leave it at that. Don't need no other name. Most folks know me as Jester, anyways." His huge mouth was spread wide in a grin, and if he'd had a hat, she was sure he would have tipped it.

Yellow eyes gleamed with good humour in the brown face. Still, there was a shrewdness there that Padmé didn't discount. Bounty hunters weren't known to lack intelligence, and according to Sal and Lorne, Jester managed a whole cadre of them.

Sal reached out and shook of those hands. "Hey, Jester. Thanks for making time to see us. I owe you."

"Be sure I'll collect," was Jester's jovial response. "Come in. Come in. You'll have to excuse the accommodation. Let's just say that I figured you'd appreciate a bit more privacy than my usual place of business."

So saying, he led them into a short corridor and through another door. This led to a room that was filled floor to ceiling on one side with crates of parts and detergent capsules, judging by the block stencilling, anyway. There was also a trio of ridiculously flimsy chairs and a snack dispenser. Jester walked over to the far wall and flipped open a panel built into it. The Besalisk then input a sequence of some kind and a portion of the wall slid apart to reveal a turbolift.

His sweeping gesture was an invitation for them to enter it. "This way, folks. We'll use my office."

The elevator was roomy, but given the size of Freyrr and Jester it was still a cramped—and thankfully short—journey going down. The elevator stopped with a gentle bump and opened its doors to reveal a cavernous warehouse run by droids. A quick glance was all it took to identify weapons of all sizes, crates of spices and all sorts of other illegal goods and contraband. The worst was the living stock. There were whole stacks of tiny, stinking cages filled with small-sized, non-sentient beings—destined to be pets or snacks. The screeches, chirps and chitters of desperate misery from the inmates was heart-rending.

Obviously, this was a sideline for Jester. Padmé doubted that he had the appropriate license to trade in exotic creatures. License holders were required to supply a basic level of care and comfort, as well as fulfil other obligations.

Spotting Padmé's disapproving scrutiny, Jester grinned without an ounce of contrition, showing his blunt, stubby ring of teeth. "Don't worry, Councillor. We won't be disturbed down here."

It was a subtle warning not to interfere, or offer an opinion.

After a moment, Padmé nodded stiffly. They _needed_ as much help as they could get, and she was in no position to be picky. Jester could end up being invaluable. Still, she promised herself a return visit at some point in the future.

Once inside a private office, and before either Sal or Padmé could speak, Jester pre-empted the need for a lengthy explanation. "This is about that man of yours, Skywalker, ain't it?"

"It is," confirmed Padmé, declining to sit.

"We need him out of there, Jester," added Sal, cutting to the chase. "We can't let Lyonides just hand him over to the Falleen." He shot Padmé a challenging look, adding, "_If_ that's what he's planning."

In the massive seat behind the desk, Jester let out a bark of laughter, smacking one hefty knee with a palm the size of a dinner plate. "Oh you can bet your sweet ass that Lyonides is plannin' just that. I already heard as much and my source has never let me down yet."

"What else does your source tell you?" asked Padmé, suddenly feeling breathless.

"That for a cold-blood species, the Falleen are sure feelin' vengeful. The second they turned up, they put an offer on the table—give us Vader and we'll leave, but if you don't, we'll raze your city to rubble—ironic considering what ticked 'em off in the first place. The funny thing is, Lyonides already had your man in custody before the message even came through." Seeing a Besalisk wink was bizarre considering their avian heritage. "He must be getting psychic in his old age."

That was hardly news. They'd already suspected that Lyonides had somehow arranged this nightmare. "Do you know when and how the handover's supposed to take place?" asked Sal.

"That's to be decided—after the trial."

o~o~o

"Why put him on trial? If this Skywalker has confessed to his true identity, and you're sure that his appearance of youth is deceptive, then that is sufficient for us."

Commander Xellas was typical of the Falleen species, tall, sleek and elegant. The reptilian ridges on his face gave him a high-boned appearance, carving his face into tightly-scaled peaks and valleys. The exception to Falleen foibles was his clothing. The military cut of his uniform was utilitarian rather than the usual rich textures coupled with jewel-toned colours. Similarly, his abrupt, no-nonsense approach to negotiation was a far cry from the usual intrigues favoured by most of his kind.

"He hasn't confessed to anything. In fact, he hasn't even been questioned, yet."

Lyonides didn't take his eyes off Skywalker, visible through the one way transpariplas. He was thoroughly indulging his enjoyment of the sight and there was a definite thrum of pleasure in his blood. His nemesis was manacled to their most secure interrogation chair, contained within a shield and wearing silver-coloured interconnecting patches that delivered a regular, low voltage charge of electricity throughout his body. Powerless to rip them off, Skywalker was pale, damp with sweat and twitching uncontrollably. Lips turned up in a smile, Lyonides was reminded of an infant sloth he'd watched die as a child, caught between the tiny gap separating two energy streams. The best, though, was Skywalker's expression between spasms—absolute agony.

It was a revelation of sorts to realise that watching an opponent become reduced to such a pitiful state was, in many ways, better than sex. Undeniably enervated, he couldn't tear his gaze away.

Xellas slid Lyonides a sharp glance. "Then why is he being tortured?"

Before replying, Lyonides made a mental note to save the surveillance holocam recordings for prosperity, and future entertainment.

He didn't bother to hide his impatience when he finally answered Xellas. "We don't need to question him. I already know he's Vader. The point of the electrical charge isn't torture, but to disrupt his rather unique abilities. We used an experimental drug initially, but the dose required could kill him if used too often. This is an alternative safeguard." He finally turned to face his _guest_. "We don't want him to escape now do we?"

Xellas gave a stiff bow. "No, Premier, we do not want him to escape. However, I can't help but note that you're enjoying his pain. My own people's rancour I can understand, but what can you have against him? You died years before Vader began to plague the galaxy."

Lyonides saw the layer of faint disgust in the otherwise dispassionate green eyes looking at him. It irked him considerably. "What would you do, Commander, if one of your men tried to take over your command, ruining morale and turning the heads of the others who would otherwise obey you without question?"

"I would execute the individual before he could become a problem. _Not_ put him on trial."

Lyonides smiled coldly. "Unlike you, I didn't have such a luxury available to me at the time, and things have become even more complicated since." He motioned for Xellas to walk with him. "Even I must occasionally answer to the people, Commander. If you'll follow me I'll show you something that may explain it for you."

He took the Falleen commander to another room in the underground complex. The interior of this room was more like the deck of a huge, technological battleship than a mere surveillance room whose sole purpose was to spy on the city's populace. A dozen people and a multitude of droids were kept frantically busy monitoring holotransmissions, both private and media, and relaying information to troops on the ground.

"What do you see?" Lyonides asked Xellas sweeping his hand to take in the plethora of images: tearful interviews, churning crowds, overturned vehicles, demonstrators struggling with security services. Even muted, the accumulation of sounds assaulted the ears.

"A circus," said Xellas, eyeing it all with his lip curling derisively. "Hysterical people all venting their passions in a disgusting display of overindulgence." A delicate shudder of distaste passed down his lean frame. "You will never see Falleen behave so disgracefully. You humans have no self-control."

"I don't disagree," returned Lyonides smoothly, "But you're missing the finer point—as in—what exactly is causing them to become hysterical in the first place."

"I had assumed it was the unmasking of Vader."

"You're half right. I've had people following the mood of the crowd and their reports make for interesting reading. It may come as a surprise to you that not everyone is out for Vader's blood. Some simply refuse to believe it. For many more, he's come to mean a tenuous security—a symbol of hope, if you will—and in the interests of self-preservation, they feel that his past is irrelevant regardless of his identity." Lyonides spread his hands. "After all, we're all here to redeem for something."

For the first time, Xellas came close to exhibiting fury when he all but spat, "Vader is a vicious, murderous slug. He doesn't deserve a chance to redeem."

"Quite." Lyonides smiled politely. "But you see my dilemma? I need to be seen to give him a chance to defend himself—and have him confess publicly in an arena that I can't be seen to manipulate. The important element from your point of view will be the council vote, and that will be entirely staged. Don't worry," he added, exuding confidence and assurance, "You will have your revenge, Commander. Doing it my way will simply make things much easier when I do give him to you."

Xellas stared at him and then gusted out a sigh, shaking his head. "Play your games, Premier. Just don't think to double-cross me. It could be catastrophic for you and your population, whatever their opinion of this Skywalker. I will give you twelve standard hours to prove his identity and hand him over."

o~o~o

There wasn't so much as a feeble flicker of a distant star to lighten the enveloping blackness of night. Barricades had been set up around the palace perimeter. The heaving crowd strained against it, nearly crushing those fortunate, or unfortunate, enough to be in front. The more determined and enterprising scaled whatever was handy for a better view. Things were much quieter now, the people waiting tensely for the first sight of Skywalker. Scuffles still broke out when the hecklers managed to work the crowd enough, stirring up fear and anger, but mostly people just waited.

"Who in chaos hold a trial in the middle of the damn night?" growled Sal as they weaved through the crush of bodies.

In full regal Naboo makeup to disguise her features, Padmé didn't consider it that hard to understand. "Someone who wants it done lightening fast so people don't have time to really consider what it is their doing, and with the possibility of thinner crowds to give him less of a problem. He can't wait and risk the people waking up to the fact that they've all done things to atone for."

It made sense from Lyonides' point of view. It had been less than eight hours since the story broke and there were already questions being asked about why a man was being tried for his actions back in the living world. Logically, Padmé knew that Lyonides couldn't risk waiting too long for everyone to calm down.

"Yeah, well, not everyone is Darth _kriffing_ Vader, and gives the neighbours itchy trigger fingers."

Padmé sighed. Unfortunately, he had a point. It wasn't just an issue of fairness. Lives were at risk from the Falleen ship—which was why they had to make sure that when they did rescue Anakin, they drew the Falleen into chasing them, and made it look as if he had no plans to return to Junga Roth. If she thought about it, she had to admit that the whole plan was fraught with flaws and risks—so she didn't think about it. For once, she wasn't interested in looking too far into the future. She just wanted them all to make it through the night.

Wearing a silky pantsuit with an ornately embroidered shimmersilk overtunic that reached her knees, Padme worked her way back and to the side, aiming for the edge of the gatehouse and a clearer spot. As she did, she almost fell over a group who had taken to sitting down. Sal caught her arm to help her keep her balance, snarling back at the abuse that sailed after them for having trodden on fingers. She could feel his tension through the grip on her elbow and it stoked her own to even greater heights.

Padmé's heart was hammering and she felt as if she wanted to be violently sick, or would if she'd been able to eat anything to actually bring up. It didn't matter that she'd seen action before on equally dangerous occasions. This kind of thing was not her milieu and she felt like a foolish amateur who was about to get a great many people killed.

_Get a grip and focus_, she told herself fiercely. _Anakin needs you_.

As soon as she had a clear enough space, Padmé lifted her comlink to her lips. She kept her voice rock-steady by sheer willpower. "Alright. Let's go. Everyone remember their positions and stick to the plan. Improvise only if you have to. I know we haven't had much time to prepare—"

"Two whole hours," muttered Sal sarcastically.

"—But, if we work as team, we can do this."

Her comlink buzzed with an incoming transmission. It was Jazz, one of Jester's hunters, and one of the four he'd loaned them for this rescue. They were in the crime boss' debt to an alarming degree, but Padmé didn't care about that—couldn't. _"They're moving Skywalker now. I saw him for a few seconds before they loaded him on the transport. He's in one piece, but doesn't look so hot. If they head straight for the palace his ETA is ten minutes."_

_He didn't look so hot_. She didn't dare picture what Lyonides had done to him. Jester had already told them enough to have her wanting to spill the _Premier's_ blood personally. Fury bubbled, adding to the fear and screwing her nerves even tighter. Gods. She just wanted this to be over and Anakin safely back with them. This time it was harder still to keep her tone even. "Okay, ten minutes until they get here. Remember, we only make our move _after_ the council vote." Padmé's fingers tightened around the slim, cylindrical device until the knuckles turned white. "Good luck, everyone."

o~o~o

Images bled into one another, as did reality and dreams. Anakin was helpless to stop himself from being pulled, shoved and jostled. He had no strength and no power. His feet were moving, but he had no idea where. He couldn't move his arms, or focus and he stumbled many times, only to be roughly yanked upright again. Everything was spinning. He heard voices, but it was as if they came from under water. At one point, he felt the vibration of lifting off and, for one brief second, he was lucid enough to know he was once again drugged and in the middle of being transported somewhere.

Then the slipstream of his subconscious pulled him under again.

_He was in a turbulent sea of searing anger and crushing fear. Garbled yelling and shouting assaulted his ears. He was being pushed and tugged here and there like flotsam in a swollen steam. He tried to lift his arms, but couldn't move them no matter how hard he strained. All around him hysteria was ripe in the air, soaking into his skin and shredding reason. Faces leapt out of the seething darkness; one of them was Padmé's. She was close, but not close enough. She was shouting at him, her face alive with desperation. It was like receiving a stab of adrenaline straight to the heart. The sight of her was the jolt he needed to start shoving back. He *had* to get her. He recognised this scene. He'd seen this. She needed him—his wife, his love. She couldn't be here. He had to get her away NOW._

_Then he felt it, the disturbance in the Force that was more a violent quake than a quiver. The Force was screaming, and then so was everyone else. Anakin felt the burn of his own hoarse cry as it fled his throat. "PADME. No, No, NO!"_

_He had to get her to go away. "Padmé RUN! Please! Please! RUN!" _

_She couldn't hear him over the cacophony. He struggled harder than he'd ever struggled before. Terror crashed over him in waves. He could feel the darkness closing in, getting closer. Suddenly his arms were free. He reached for her and she reached for him. Almost there. Almost touching. Then her face went blank with shock and she was falling away, her face lifeless…_

_Horror writhed in his brain. __**NO!**_

Something heavy and blunt crashed into his left cheekbone, slamming his head into another, harder surface behind him. Agonised stars exploded in his brain and, as if from a great distance, he heard the gruff demand, "Shut the hell up, slimespawn, and quit hollering. Your problems haven't even started yet."

Bending at the waist with the floor rushing up to meet him, Anakin felt the bile rush up and erupt out of him.

The gruff voice was now filled with disgust. "Ah, _kriff_, he's spewed again. How long till we kriffing land?"

**Chapter Fifteen**

Anakin was given another injection only instead of clouding his mind this one began to clear it. His surroundings slowly stopped spinning and his vision came into focus by degrees. The first thing he noticed was a mosaic floor that stretched out ahead of him, leading to tiered benches crammed row upon row with taut, staring faces. Finally, he saw a smiling, relaxed Lyonides who was, for once, lounging in his ornately carved chair. An equally ornate ceiling soared overhead. Piece by piece he gradually recognised where he was—the palace audience chamber. His hearing cleared too. There were mutters from the packed benches, hissed exchanges that reeked fear. There was also the hum of electronics from dozens of holocam recorders.

It was eerily like his last visit to this very chamber when he'd deliberately baited the city's undisputed dictator. Only this time his hands were manacled behind his back and there were dozens of blaster rifles aimed at his body.

While his vision had improved everything else was a blur of confusion and he couldn't think why he was restrained.

Anakin swayed on his feet, barely managing to keep his balance. Every muscle in his body ached and a vice-like headache threatened to crush his skull. He was incredibly weak. _Why was he so weak?_ He tried to think through the pain and confusion, to remember _why_ he was there. It all came back to him in a jagged, despairing rush: the Falleen, his identity as Vader being broadcast for all and sundry to know, Natar arriving with a platoon of troopers, giving himself up rather than risk the others—then pain and disorientation—until the nightmare.

Padmé!

The panic that choked him in his dreams gripped him now. Everything else was forgotten. The lingering after-effects of the drugs they'd been pumping into him cleared enough for one thought. Where was Padmé? Desperate, he sought and found Lyonides, staring into those cold grey eyes to demand, "Where is Padmé Amidala?"

The words came out rusty and slurred, but clear enough. As if his question had been a signal, all other voices went abruptly silent. Directly ahead of him, Lyonides rose to prowl the chamber floor.

"How very devoted and husband-like of you to ask," said Lyonides with a wry smile that he shared with the assemblage before facing Anakin again, "But, we'll get to your wife later. For now, we have some questions for you."

_Wife!_

How did they know he and Padmé were married? Anakin wondered dully. His head whirled sickly. That was another unfathomable question that he wasn't up to working out yet. Licking dry lips he tried to sound authoritative, but it only came out pleading, "I need to know she's alright."

"Unfortunately, I have no idea where she is." The corners of Lyonides' mouth kicked up in another, far less pleasant smile. "However, I can promise you that I plan on remedying that fact soon enough."

It was a relief to have it confirmed that his deal with Natar _had_ spared Padmè being detained too. Still, Anakin was lucid enough to recognise the threat buried in the casual words. He tried a step forward and almost stumbled when his legs threatened to fold, sending him to his knees. "Leave her alone."

"Is that an order, Skywalker?" Lyonides sauntered closer, head cocked, expression coolly amused. "Somehow, I don't think you've grasped your situation yet. Let me enlighten you. We're here to establish who you are—or rather were—and if we as a council should hand you over to the Falleen, who are, as we speak, looming over the city and planning to annihilate us if we don't."

Alone, surrounded, Anakin digested that information and closed his eyes, defeated. An icy sickness washed over him. It was over. His efforts to atone, his promise to Padmé—he'd failed it all. His life or the lives of every single Rothian. There was no choice. The brief strength he'd found to defend Padmé withered inside him and died. The whirl in his head returned with a vengeance. He had to swallow to speak. "It doesn't sound like you have much of a choice."

Head bowed, he missed the triumph that glowed briefly on Lyonides face. "So, are you admitting that you were Darth Vader, second-in-command to the Emperor and murderer of millions?"

If the chamber had been eerily silent before, it was nothing in comparison to that single, poised-on-a-knife-edge moment of waiting.

There was no thought in Anakin to deny it. He couldn't. His head was simply too heavy for his neck to lift it, so he didn't try. He didn't want to anyway; he couldn't bear to see the effect of his confession. Only one thing in his life had been harder to do, and that was to kneel before the Chancellor and pledge himself to death. Hollow despair echoed in his voice. "Yes, I admit it. I was Vader."

The silence lasted a micro-second longer—then the chamber erupted. Peace was shattered. Voices rose and words were lost in the cacophony.

Anakin squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back tears and wishing he could block out their reaction. It was as if the horror of his life was being reflected back at him a thousand times over. Given a choice, he would have preferred a return to the oblivion of the drugs.

"_Silence_!" thundered Lyonides, turning in a circle to glower at the fifty-nine councillors, many of whom had risen from their seats. "Sit down," he snapped. "We're not finished here."

Peace returned, fraught with tension.

"What is the point in dragging this fiasco out any further?" asked Bac Gon into the silence. His grey-skinned Munn face was haughtily impatient. "He has admitted to being Vader. We should just give him to the Falleen and be done with the matter."

"The point is that I have decided that he will be given a chance to defend himself," said Lyonides pointedly. He then clasped his hands behind his back, wearing an expression carefully set into sombre lines. His gaze encompassed them all. "Who here can deny that he's provided important services to the city? Services that demand Vader be given a chance to explain himself—before the vote is taken." His next gesture took in the crowds waiting outside the palace perimeter. "It would hardly be fair to do otherwise, and the people waiting out there—in the dark and cold—are are expecting nothing less."

If anyone was surprised to have Lyonides talk about fairness, they didn't dare mention it, or that he was obviously playing to the media. The holocams whirred and lapped it all up.

Anakin finally looked up, his expression stark. Lyonides carefully prepared statements gave him no relief, quite the opposite. He shook his head, ignoring the pain the movement caused him. "I won't play your games. I've already told you that I was Vader. We both know that you have no choice but to give me over to them—do us both a favour and get it over with."

"And I've already said that a vote will be taken once you've been given a chance to explain your past." Lyonides stepped closer, close enough to lean in and say, "Will you deny your victims the chance to hear for themselves why you did what you did? And the people who believed in you, who thought you could save them—" out of view of the cams, Lyonides' face twisted, "—do they not deserve an explanation?"

"You're wasting your time," Anakin rasped through a tight, dry throat. He could feel every eye on him, filled with fear and condemnation. Shame cut him to the bone, drilling into his mind. He kept his gaze on Lyonides. "I can't possibly explain any of it to you. I have no excuse, or defence. I don't have the words. No one could possibly understand—"

"Why don't you let us decide that," retorted Lyonides. He returned to his seat. "For a start, we need to know if it's true that you bombarded a Falleen city from orbit, killing hundreds of thousands of innocent people?"

When Anakin didn't respond, he leaned forward in his seat, raising his hands. "It _is_ topical, Skywalker. Speak. Enlighten us as to why we have a ship invading our skies."

There was another thunderous silence.

"Yes, I did it." Anakin finally replied. "I'd been using the planet as a base for a bioweapons experiment. It went wrong, broke containment. I ordered the city destroyed to prevent an outbreak of a disease that could easily have spread to other planets."

More mutters broke out from the benches.

Sitting back, sublimely at ease, Lyonides quirked a brow. "That doesn't sound so monstrous."

"I didn't try and evacuate." Sweat popped out on Anakin's face. "There were a dozen things that I could have done before killing all of those people. It didn't even occur to me to try. I judged it more effective to simply incinerate the surrounding area. I didn't hesitate and felt no remorse. It was wrong, and it _was_ monstrous."

"And Alderaan?" prompted, Lyonides silkily. "A city wasn't enough for you so you went after a whole planet—home to millions of peaceful people."

Having started, Anakin found it spilling out of him. Images and faces swam before his minds eye. Leia, his brave, beautiful daughter, her horror and grief as she watched her home planet blasted into nothingness. All of a sudden he couldn't hold it back.

"I didn't pick the target, or order the weapons to fire, but I was there." Anakin's stomach roiled under savage twists of guilt. He didn't notice the single tear that slid down his face. He was too busy being buried alive under an avalanche of memories. "I'd been a Jedi once, I should have protested, done something, but I didn't. I just stood there watching, and feeling, as millions cried out in fear and then were silenced—forever. Their deaths meant less than nothing to me. I'm culpable."

o~o~o

The crowd was completely, utterly silent. Lyonides had set up massive viewscreens as big as airbuses at strategic locations all over the city, obviously wanting to make sure that no-one missed the show. All over Roth, people would be standing with faces turned to the sky, or glued to their holo's at home. It was torture for Padmé to watch. She'd seen Anakin sunk into despair, seen him doubled over with grief, but she'd never seen him broken—not like this. For more than an hour now, he'd been forced to rake over his past. Every question and answer seemed to sap him of life, etching torment ever more strongly on his face. Her own face was wet with tears.

She hadn't understood fully before, but now she did. The Anakin she'd known and loved _had_ ceased to exist when he'd become Vader. And knowing that, she couldn't help but think of how much more of a torture it must be to remember it all now that he was back, and to know that, regardless, he was responsible for allowing it to happen. To remember each atrocity and feel, as he hadn't been capable of feeling at the time, the horror and revulsion—it would drive many insane. He'd been hiding it, denying it by throwing himself at the Narzgh. She'd seen the cracks herself at the first threat of exposure. Anguish closed her throat and her heart ached for him. Her hands fisted. Couldn't they see just how much he regretted it all, how much he repented? Could anyone miss what she could see so clearly on his face? The guilt was tearing him apart. For stars sake he was practically on his knees!

And yet his first thought had been of her—which was so _typical_ of him.

Gods. She loved him so much! She wished she could make it stop. She despised Lyonides for doing this to him. She had to fist a hand into her mouth to hold back the sobs welling in her throat. Right at this moment, she wished, she dearly, dearly wished that she hadn't held Anakin at arms length. She should have let herself hold him at least once, and told him that she forgave him and loved him. What if they failed and she never got another chance?

A hand dropped on her shoulder. It was Sal, and it was as if he'd been reading her mind. "They miscalculated," He told her gruffly. "They should have let him walk in there straight-backed and proud. I mean, _look_ at him. He looks wasted, like he's been beaten over the head with a club for a couple days. He can hardly stand. He's broken up. He's been tortured, you can kriffing see it." He stabbed a finger at the distant screen. "Compare that picture to the warrior battling Narzgh raid after damned raid. People are going to start to feel sympathy. No-one who sees this—hears this—is going to doubt that he wants to atone. Hell, _I_ wasn't sure, but this crapshow has me convinced. I guarantee that this is gonna come back and bite Lyonides in the ass."

"Maybe," said Padmé, shakily. "But what if it's too late by then?"

o~o~o

"We've covered the highlights, I think," said Lyonides. He was back to prowling the floor, heels clicking on the decorative floor. "And, so far, we have: mass murder, rampant enslavement and systematic terrorising of whole systems. You were a busy man, Lord Vader."

"I was trying to bring peace, or thought I was. He told me it was about bringing peace, ending war, suffering—I didn't realise, and then it was too late." Anakin's voice was hoarse, disjointed. It was a gargantuan effort to lift his head and meet Lyonides' gaze again. "I've had enough. I've told you enough. End this now, please!"

"In a moment, but first I want you to tell me about the Jedi themselves. Surely, they must have been like your family during your early years?"

Anakin's head swam, thick with spiking agony from the headache stabbing inside his skull. The Jedi? Yes, the Jedi _had_ been his family, and Obi-Wan his father and brother. Until he'd betrayed _them_. He saw Obi-Wan's grief as they faced one another on that landing pad on Mustafar and wanted to reach out and beg. _Master, help me_!

His answer was also from the past, and heart-breaking. _You were my brother, Anakin. I loved you. You were the Chosen One. It was said that you would destroy the Sith, not join them. Bring balance to the Force, not leave it in Darkness._

_I had to obey my master. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry! Forgive me!_ Anakin had no clue that he'd spoken the words aloud.

A voice called him back to the present. "You must remember the Jedi, Lord Vader." Lyonides was standing right in front of him. It might as well have just been the two of them. Everyone else was stunned into absolute, riveted silence. Numbed by pain and exhaustion, Anakin had completely forgotten about there ever having been others in the chamber with them.

Hunched over, barely able to stay on his feet, Anakin was too tired and drained to fight. His tears had dried, but his face was ravaged. "What do you want to know?"

"I want you to think back to the day you first adopted the mantle of Vader. What was the first task that you performed for the new emperor?"

Unbelievably, fresh agony lanced him. _No, it couldn't be…_ "What do you mean?"

There was no mercy in that icy grey gaze. "Exactly what I say. What was your first task as Vader?"

Once again memories rushed at Anakin. The Jedi Temple, knights and masters he'd known from a youngling, and the younglings. Force! The younglings.

"_Master Skywalker, there are too many of them. What are we going to do?"_

He'd killed them, cut down innocent children even while they'd been looking to him to protect them. He could see them falling like broken dolls to the floor of the temple—small forms with tiny hands and rounded cheeks. Young lives monstrously taken. It was despicable, unspeakable. How could he have done that? He'd slice his own hands off before he'd hurt a child. Yet he _had_. It was unbearable to think about. Fresh horror clutched at his chest, raking bloody claws over his mind. He couldn't block it out anymore and confine the memories to dreams. He didn't notice the physical pain when he finally fell heavily to his knees.

"No!" Anakin shook his head, sounding like a wounded animal. "NO! It's not possible for you to know that. How do you know about that?"

Lyonides didn't stop smiling. "You slaughtered the very people who raised you, including children as young as three, didn't you? And not from a ship, but up close and personal" He didn't wait for a reply, "But then killing other people's children can hardly matter when you almost killed your own." Mock sorrow flitted over Lyonides' face. "Poor Padmé assaulted by her own husband on the cusp of giving birth to your son and daughter. How you must have _broken her heart_. I'm really not surprised that she preferred death to facing that distressing fact."

_Impossible. It was impossible for anyone to know that. Unless…_!

A red haze dropped like a curtain over his mind. Without any warning, Anakin lunged to his feet so furiously fast that some of their audience screamed and began to scramble out of their seats. Every word out of Lyonides' mouth had been like a lash, only this pain had brought anger with it to douse the anguish. _It had to be Sidious_. He'd suspected that Lyonides was under the emperors sway, but now he _knew_! Savage fury gave him strength; Anakin could feel it boiling through him, filling his veins with molten energy. Ignoring the troopers now advancing and face contorted, he raged, "_How do you know that?_ No one knows about that. _No-one_, but _him_. You're in league with him aren't you? ADMIT it!"

Speedily, Lyonides backed away, but it wasn't a retreat. Coolly, he quirked a brow, casually waving back the troopers even as he spoke, "I don't know who you mean by 'him', unless of course, you mean the white-haired old man who sent you here—Kenobi something or other, isn't it?"

That broke through the furious haze and stopped Anakin in his tracks. He felt sucker-punched. "No, I don't believe you. You're lying. It's Sidious, not Obi-Wan—"

"Do you think that you're the only one who gets visits from those on the other side? My informant was an old man with blue eyes. He told me about you. In fact, he had lots of interesting things to say. He was your mentor wasn't he? If you doubt me, ask yourself how I know that it was he who put you on this so-called path to redemption?"

"You're LYING!"

Lyonides ignored the desperate shout. "Did you really think that you could redeem yourself? Get back all that you lost because you threw it away? Come on." Tsking, he slowly shook his head, grey eyes alight with amusement. Almost conspiratorially, he added, "Have you considered that this ridiculous illusion of hope is in fact your _punishment_, precisely because it will _never_ happen?"

It was Anakin's turn to back away, utterly and completely shattered. The rage had drained as if it had never been. He was once again mentally reeling, waxy pale and swaying. "No. No." he denied hoarsely. "He wouldn't lie to me."

Retaking his seat, Lyonides finally let his true emotions show—contempt, hatred and triumph. "Look at you. Faced with your crimes you become pitiful, so much for the great Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker." Dismissing Anakin with a derisive flourish, he turned to survey his council. "We're finished here. It's time to vote."

o~o~o

"The council votes are in. They're giving him to the Falleen—tonight. Just like Jester said they would." Sal's expression was grim. "It looks like we're on." He gripped Padmé's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Padmé wanted to shake her head. No. She wasn't okay. She felt wrung-out to the point of being hollow. Instead she nodded. "I'm fine. Let's go." She started to weave and thread her way through the remaining throng. "I just hope that Ceetee made it into position?"

"Me," said Sal, "I'm more worried about Lorne and that bounty hunter. This whole plan hinges on them getting the job done."

~o~

Striding down a corridor of the security centre and trying to look like he belonged there, Lorne was feeling the pressure, and not liking it one bit. He couldn't quite figure out how he'd managed to get himself into this situation _again_.

Yeesh. So much for 'once bitten twice shy'.

Jazz, the human female bounty hunter he'd been partnered with, was as tall as the Pylean and looked like she'd born ready to rumble. Wiry red hair tamed into intricate cornrows framed a tanned, hard face. She filled out the male tech's uniform far more impressively that the poor shmuck who'd originally owned it, and who was now unconscious and stashed away.

As for Lorne, he was wearing a holo-ring around his neck. It was the latest in a line of hi-tech gadgets that would provide a user with a 3-D disguise. It was currently projecting a human head over his own far more interesting and handsome one. Anyone looking at him would see an average Joe with a goofy smile and the charisma of a squashed turnip.

When he said so, Jazz gave him a blank look. "What's a turnip?"

His reply was a grimace and a forget-it wave of one gloved hand.

Jazz had more than the unconscious tech's uniform. She also had his identirod and a micro-film cast of his right palm sealed over her own—all they needed to get inside the main control room at the city's security centre. Of course, getting inside was only a small part of their 'mission'. They also had to incapacitate everyone inside it and then take all of the equipment offline, effectively blinding Lyonides' forces.

The security centre was bustling. Techs and troopers streamed passed and the glides and elevators were constantly disgorging passengers—many of whom looked terrified to be there. Lorne didn't blame them. There was a sterile soullessness to the complex that he found unnerving. The coward in him wanted to run screaming back out into the night. If anyone took it into their heads to sing, he might just do it anyway. They had to take one of the elevators down a level. Exiting with a dozen or so others, they hung a left into another corridor. This level was even less friendly. Directly in front of them a pair of troopers were dragging a limp, groaning man between them whose feet were trailing along behind him. Trying not to imagine were the poor guy was headed, Lorne did his damndest not to catch anyone's eye. His mouth was dry and both of his hearts were beating a heckova tattoo. By the time they reached the blast-sealed door that protected the control room, his gut was one massive ball of anxious gas.

Looking unflappable and utterly cool, Jazz inserted the identirod, then laid her right hand on the palm-plate located at the side of the door at waist height. Two tension-humming seconds passed before the light went green and the door slid upwards. They were in.

Inside, technology abounded. The blast of noise and images was like a wall of motion that you passed through after crossing the threshold. The door slid shut again behind them. Nobody paid them any notice.

They were standing on a small deck with two steps down leading onto the main floor. The walls and floor were a gleaming black with all colour and light coming from the multitude of images, flashing control panels and consoles. People and droids filled the chairs and darted between stations. Palming the EMP grenade in her left hand and the rebreather in her right, Jazz slid Lorne a tight smile. "What was that phrase you used earlier…'it's time to rock and roll'?"

"That would be the one, sugarplum." The gas grenade in his own hand felt hot and Lorne almost dropped his own rebreather through sheer, sweaty nerves.

Inserting her rebreather, Jazz dropped to the floor, slamming the magnetic bottom of the conical grenade on the floor, activating it. Lorne copied her. An electro-magnetic pulse and coma gas were set off simultaneously. Micro-seconds later, the droids collapsed, folding in on themselves, toppling like mannequins as their processors shut down in the blink of an eye. The humans took a little longer, but even they didn't have time to realise what was happening and set off an alarm before they too were lying sprawled wherever they'd fallen.

Cautiously rising to stand straight again and take stock, Lorne took his first relatively easy breath. "So far so good."

Having locked the door from the inside, Jazz tossed him a blaster on her way passed. "You stay by the door and blast anyone who manages to get through. I'll get the barriers down and make this place unusable for a while."

The blaster felt even more alien in Lorne's hand than the grenade had done. "You do that, and try and make it snappy will you. I've got a club missing its host."

~o~

It took an interminable amount of time to thread through the crowds to the point that Jester had told them they could use the stolen identirod to get through the barrier and into the palace grounds. The hoods of their robes hid Padmé's and Sal's faces and they didn't speak as they skirted the lights, sticking to paths that hugged the walls and the shadows. Taking the East steps under cover of the waterfall that tumbled down between them, they reached the top avenue that ran parallel to the utility and administration areas of the palace. A five minute jog brought them to the single doorway. A dozen meters away from it, Padmé used her comlink. "Ceetee, we're here. Open her up."

The door slid open just as they reached it and Ceetee stood framed inside the door frame. The little astromech droid gave a series of buzzes and whistles as a welcome that held more than a hint of relief to see them. At the same moment Padmé's comlink gave two crackles, just as an alarm started to blare.

She looked at Sal. "Lorne did it. The barriers are down and they know something's up. We need to get to those hanger bay doors _now!_"

Sal didn't argue and they sacrificed stealth for speed. With the barriers all down, the surging, hysterical crowd would keep the troopers busy, but they would also create a greater urgency in Lyonides to get Anakin safely aboard the Falleen ship. Meaning, _they_ had to reach the hanger bay first and seal the doors so that the shuttle intended for use would be inaccessible. Leaving Lyonides with no choice but to return Anakin to the security centre, via a forced march through the courtyard and gardens—an area now swarming with irate citizens, and vulnerable to ambush.

That was the plan anyway. However, the plan suffered a setback when they rounded the last corner and found a quartet of edgy troopers standing right outside the hangar bay doors. The troopers were huddled in a confused group and tapping the sides of their helmets, as if hoping to get their defunct coms systems working with a little persuasion.

Abruptly, Sal and Padmé slowed to a sedate walk, but it was too late. The troopers had spotted them and now formed a line, raising their blaster rifles. "Erm, what's our excuse for being in the area again?" asked Sal, sotto-voiced.

Padmé sucked in a breath, her mind racing and coming up blank. "We don't have one."

"Right. I knew that." Sal plastered on a big smile for the advancing troopers. "So, what are we gonna do?"

~o~

Lorne and Jazz almost made it to the elevator. An alarm was blaring with furious urgency and squads of troopers were racing towards the now sealed, and strategically damaged, control room. One of the last to pass them was a group including a ranking officer. He drew the eye simply because he wore no anonymous helmet. A stride passed Lorne, he suddenly whipped around and snagged the Pylean's elbow. "Hey you! You're a tech. What in chaos is going on in the control room? Everything's gone down." His bullish tone matched a granite hard, scarred face and suggested the current crisis was personally their fault.

Oh, if only he knew, thought Lorne. He gave a sickly smile. "Sorry, don't have a clue. We're just off to fetch our repairs kits. Y'know, diagnostic…er…tools to help us figure it out."

"Repair kits," the officer echoed, unimpressed, obsidian eyes narrowing.

"The doors have been sealed, sir," offered Jazz quickly, intervening. "We need a decoder to try and bypass, or failing that, a laser torch. We were just going to get them."

It took a long heartbeat for him to release Lorne. "Then don't let me stop you," he said, not bothering to hide his less than admiring opinion of Lorne. "In fact, I'll send an escort to make sure no-one else impedes such an _important_ mission. What were your names and rank again?"

"Electrotech First Grade Swayle and Goran, sir," Jazz answered without missing a beat.

"Okay, Swayle and Goran, here is your escort." He called over two nearby troopers and gave them their orders, then turned back to Lorne. "Make it quick and don't keep me waiting. I have a low patience threshold."

Lorne believed him.

Jazz waited until they were inside the elevator before making her move. With brisk economy, she shot both of their escorts at point blank range. Aghast, Lorne watched them slide motionless to the floor of the cage. The acrid stink of laser discharge, melted plasto and burnt flesh filled the small space.

"Hey, what happened to the 'no deaths unless it can't be helped' proviso of this mission?" he gasped.

"They couldn't be helped," Jazz retorted with a hard glance in his direction. She then positioned her considerable bulk in front of the doors, hiding the bodies from immediate view once the doors slid back. "Besides, Amidala isn't my boss. I got told to get the job done and get out—that's what I'm doing."

There was no more time for debate. The elevator doors slid open and they stepped out onto the ground floor of the now frenetic security centre. If possible, even more people were milling around than earlier. Twin hearts hammering, Lorne kept pace with the bounty hunter as they dodged and weaved around the crowd. He could see the exit a dozen meters ahead and had to restrain himself from breaking into a sprint. They were half way there when a commotion broke out behind them.

Sweat popped out on his face and Lorne didn't dare look around. "Oh. Oh. Not good."

Jazz risked a glance back. "You're not wrong. Run, and don't look back." She gave Lorne a push, then whirled to face the way they'd come.

Lorne did as he was told and ran, accompanied by the sound of blaster fire. The trouble was there were still a number of people in front of him and several of them were wearing uniforms and carrying blasters. It wouldn't take a genius to make the connection between the woman firing and the man making a run for it.

He was right.

Two troopers by the exit were already moving to intercept him. He was never going to make it, Lorne realised. Terror twisted his guts. He had no way of defending himself. He hated firearms and had given Jazz back the blaster as soon as he could. Dumb mistake.

Without any warning, someone grasped his elbow, swung him around and through an open doorway into a small, empty corridor. The door hissed shut behind him. Braced for being shot, Lorne froze and squeezed his eyes shut.

Only to snap them open again when a cultured voice said, "Take off the holo-ring. Your real appearance is far less of a danger to you now than the disguise."

What he saw was an old man with close-cropped white hair and beard and incredibly calm blue eyes. "Excuse me?" Lorne said, bewildered. "Who are—"

He was cut off. "There's no time for explanations, my friend. We really don't have long. They'll get through this door far easier than the control room. If you want to survive, you must do exactly as I say."

"Well, since you put it like that…"

With shaking hands, Lorne once again did as he was told. There was something so _trustworthy_ about the old man that it seemed impossible to resist. The holo-ring disengaged with a crackle of energy and he was able to pull it away easily. The old man took it out of his hand and replaced it with a shimmering cerise shirt and an equally eye-popping floor length magenta robe. The holo-ring was soon tucked away out-of-sight under the old man's own nondescript brown robe.

"Remove the jacket and change—swiftly please. They're already working on breaking through to pursue you. We have to be ready for when they do."

The reminder wasn't reassuring. "This isn't my usual kind of gig, so I'm no expert, but shouldn't we be running somewhere?" Lorne asked as he shrugged out of the dull, forest green jacket.

"No, running will do us no good. Just trust me, and let me do the talking."

That was fine with Lorne. He'd never pretended to be a hero. "The floor is yours. I'm too terrified to spit, never mind talk my way out of this mess."

As soon as Lorne had removed it, the jacket went the same way as the holo-ring, leaving no trace of the escaping human male in a tech's uniform. The transformation was finished just in time. Lorne had just managed to don the robe when the door gave way and troopers stormed through the smoking gap.

Lorne couldn't suppress a yelp when half a dozen blasters were suddenly staring him in the face.

The small space was literally bristling with aggression. "Who are you two?" asked one of the troopers. "State your business."

Unfazed, the old man flashed a palm-sized transparent card. "I have a visitors pass. My friend and I had become lost and were on our way back to the reception area when a man came barrelling along and almost sent us flying. Then, when we got here, we found the door sealed."

Obviously anxious to get on with the chase, they accepted his story without question, zeroing in on the reference to their fugitive. "This man you saw, did you see which way he went?"

"I'm afraid that I really couldn't say." The old man looked properly apologetic and utterly harmless. "We were more concerned with getting out of his way."

Once again they took his word without so much as a suspicious flicker. Lorne could only stand and stare as they raced off down the corridor, leaving the exit clear.

"Right," said the old man with a mischievous smile, clapping Lorne on the shoulder. "I think that's our queue to make a swift exit. Follow me."

The reception area was carnage and there was no sign of Jazz anywhere. It looked like a war zone and Lorne couldn't help but admire a woman who could do so much damage single-handedly. He just hoped she'd managed to get herself out. As for their escape, in all the confusion no one questioned a non-human walking around where he shouldn't be. With calm, measured steps, Lorne and his strange new ally simply walked out of the building.

Once outside, Lorne tossed up his hands and finally asked, "Okay, I'm as impressed as all get out, and grateful to boot, but who the heck are you?"

"I'm a friend of a friend, and I can't say more than that so it's no use pressing me." The old man was sprightly and didn't slow down, leading Lorne on a criss-crossing route away from the security centre, talking as they walked. "I have to go very soon. By rights, I shouldn't even be here at all. But before I do go, I would offer you a word of advice. Don't go back to your club. Head straight for the Limidian and wait there for the droid and the pilot. As soon as they're onboard, take off and leave the city. Do not delay."

Despite the large part of him that wanted to get far, far way, Lorne halted and planted his hands on his hips. "Okay, and now you're scaring me. What about the princess and the love of her life we've just been trying to rescue—with a lot of pain and trouble, I might add?"

The old man stopped too. This time real sadness passed over the calm expression—a cold breeze over a sandy shore. "Anakin and Padmé will not make it to the ship, but with a bit of luck your paths will cross again." Briskly, he went on before Lorne could interject. "Just make sure you head south east once you're away from Roth, and, along the way, persuade that irascible pilot you call friend to sing you a song."

~o~

"Halt and raise your hands in the air. This area is restricted."

All Padmé could think was that right now they were dealing with four troopers. In less than a minute that number could leap up to hundreds. They had to act _now_.

The decision hadn't been fully made before the blaster was in her hands and she was diving to the side, squeezing off shots that hit two of the four troopers dead centre in the chest. Sal had done likewise, catching the third trooper high in the shoulder. Ceetee gave an electronic squawk and zoomed over to hug the wall, out of the immediate line of fire. Lying flat on her front, Padme continued to fire, clipping the fourth and final trooper on his helmet and distracting him enough that Sal could finish him off.

There was no time even for a second of relief. Scrabbling to their feet, they raced towards the hangar bay doors. Even before they'd reached them, Padmé recognised the dreadful, heavy march of super battle droids. A glance inside was all it took. She had to be pulled back by Sal to escape from the cannon fire that almost peppered her face. Her heart didn't just sink, it dive-bombed to the floor. Lyonides hadn't been so cavalier with the security of the hanger bay after all. It was full of heavily armed droids.

Next to her, a panting Sal groaned, "We are so doomed!"

Unfortunately, she couldn't disagree with that despairing assessment. It was desperation that made her do it. Sucking in a deep breath, she lunged for the other side of the wide double doors. Behind her, she heard Sal yelling at her for being an idiot. Cannon fire spat hot streaks that just missed her head. One of those streaks passed so close to her shoulder that she thought for a heart-stopping moment that she'd been hit, then she was on the other side and protected by the reinforced frame.

Sal had tried to cover her mad dash by firing at the super battle droids. Padmé kept up the barrage from the other side too, knowing as she did that they could only slow them down. There were simply too many of them. The wall opposite was already pitted, blackened and charred. "Ceetee," she yelled. "The charges…I need them."

Sal continued firing to protect the droid's manic zoom across the open doorway. "Tell me you're not gonna do what I think you're gonna do?" he shouted to Padmé.

"Just be ready to run," she advised him grimly. Taking each of the tiny, but incredibly destructive mines out of Ceetee's storage compartment, she prepped them for detonation with a mere flick of her fingernail, then sent them skittering into the hanger bag. The last one hit a super battle droid that was fast bearing down on them. They had mere seconds left.

"Ceetee, seal the door." Padmé yelled. The doors slid across and then a blast door slammed down from above.

"RUN!" Ceetee, Padmé and Sal got moving, racing to get as much distance as possible from the imminent explosion.

o~o~o

Anakin was an emotional husk. A blessed numbness was smothering every thought and emotion, dulling everything to cold grey. The minuscule part of his mind that was still paying attention to his surroundings was aware that something had gone wrong with the plan to hand him over to the waiting Falleen. The air was rife with anger, confusion and frustration. He simply didn't care.

They hadn't bothered to dose him up again—they didn't need to. He was surrounded by guards with his hands still manacled behind his back, and simply went where he was led. They took him out of the palace and into the grounds.

He was so mired in his own numb despair the pushing, shoving and jostling didn't register at first. When it did, it still took several moments for him to realise why it felt familiar—then the darkness, the sea of people, and his vision all seemed to close in on him, sucking the air out of his lungs and cramping his gut with horror. _His nightmare—this was his nightmare coming true._ That realisation blasted away the mind fog, replacing it with something far worse. The abrupt change made him dizzy. His senses returned in a pained rush, bombarding him with information. The crowd was a huge, boiling mass of thrashing hysteria highlighted by a dozen powerful sets of roving floodlights. The sheer level of noise made picking out individual words impossible. The guards, along with Anakin, were being pelted with detritus. The whole square was verging perilously close to a full-scale riot.

Heart thundering, Anakin ignored it all. He reached out to the Force, then recoiled at the rising dark energies poisoning it. Terror skittered down his spine along with self-loathing. How could he have only just noticed? Why hadn't he sensed it sooner? His nightmare hovered at the edge of his mind, tormenting him, especially the last image of Padmé's lifeless form being snatched out of reach.

Desperation left no room for anything else. All Anakin knew was that he had to find Padmè first, and then get her as far away from here as possible. He didn't doubt that she was here.

He searched the crowd and faces leapt out at him, but none were hers. There were so many people that despair threatened to make a return. How was he supposed to find Padmé amongst so many? As the small cavalcade of Anakin and his escort pushed through, the cries, yells and obscenities reached a cacophony. The crowd pressed in. The guards shoved back, hurling orders and threats that were ignored. Crowd control was failing, pushing the guards into a tighter ring around Anakin and hindering him. It really was like being tossed and battered about in a stormy ocean. With his hands still manacled behind his back, it took some effort to retain his balance, but it didn't stop him from turning in circles to continue his frantic search.

The guards riding speederbikes skimmed warningly close to the heads of the crowd, only instead of intimidating the people, the tactic only angered them. One of the speeders, along with its rider, was downed even as Anakin's attention was drawn by a flash of dirty white up ahead.

It was Ceetee. Ahead and to the right, the little astromech droid was doing a good job of muscling his way through the densely packed bodies. Anakin's heart skipped a beat. _Padmè! She wouldn't be far away._

Then he saw her. She was following the droid, squeezing between the crush. Her dark hair was set into elaborate coils and her face was doll-like thanks to concealing cosmetics, but he would recognise her anywhere. Their eyes met briefly before the small gap in the crowd closed again and he lost sight of her. They'd been three meters apart. Determination to get to her was like a shot of adrenaline. Anakin lunged between two of his guards, using his weight to try and push through the crowd. The sheer size of the crowd pushed back, stopping him from making any headway. The guards were so busy they didn't even notice. Frustration, fear and anger writhed in him like live snakes.

Another gap opened up. As Padmè wasn't fighting _against_ the crowd, she'd managed to squeeze closer.

Two meters now.

He refused to lose her. This dream was _not_ coming true. He wouldn't let it.

He yelled her name, "Padmé!"

It was like screaming into the wind. The words were snatched away by the roars of thousands.

The dark side was growing, mushrooming. Panic hazed Anakin's mind and he threw it off—he refused to fail. He launched himself back into the crowd, heaving with his legs to force himself between those that got in his way. Curses were bellowed in his ears. Fury bubbled in his veins that he couldn't work his way through as fast as he wanted. He didn't have time to waste, every second was precious. He felt a frisson of warning from the Force, and lashed out with a Force-push at three guards that had followed him. As if picked up and tossed by some unseen giant hand, the guards went sailing into the air for several meters and then plummeted back into the thrashing mass.

Then it started to rain.

It took a second to sink in. Even the guards froze. Nothing else could have had the effect those simple drops of water had. As one, the crowd looked up at the sky, towards where the barrier should have been to protect the Core. The rain continued to fall, getting heavier. The barrier was gone. There was a heartbeat of silence, then the screaming started as pure panic set in. If possible the mayhem tripled. Buffeted on every side by people who were now trying to scramble their way out of the square, Anakin continued to heave and push, using his shoulders to ram his way through. It didn't matter, he was powerless to stop himself from being swept up in the mass escape attempt. The guards were equally eager to leave and forget their charge. The rain continued to hammer down, soaking Anakin to the skin.

Planting his feet to stop himself being dragged further away, Anakin tipped back his head and roared Padmé's name.

And saw her. The dark side was so strong now it felt as if every indrawn breath sucked it into his chest. Horror surged sickly. He was running out of time. Dodging and weaving, pushing and ramming, Anakin forced his way closer to her. Padmé was doing the same. His desperate resolve was mirrored on her face.

"Padmé, RUN. Please, please run."

The darkness was closing in, he could _feel_ the hot, fetid breath of it gathering just ahead. The Force was quivering with it. Realising he had to get his hands free to defend Padmè, Anakin focused all of his considerable will on the manacles. With a click, they snapped open and fell to the ground, instantly lost under panicked feet.

One meter. _Please, please. Let me be in time._

"You have to get out of here," he yelled at her. "Padmé…RUN—" Anakin had to throw himself to the side as more of the crowd stampeded passed, almost mowing him down. Like everyone else, their faces were dazed and white with shock.

The screaming was deafening and the rain was a watery bombardment. She couldn't hear his desperate shouting. Padmé's own lips were moving, trying to tell him something in turn.

The crowd was definitely thinning, but there were still enough panicked people milling around to create an obstacle course. Only a few more seconds, Anakin told himself, and then he'd reach her.

Throwing out an arm between fleeing bodies, she reached for his hand. Anakin did the same, thinking that as soon as she was in his arms, he was going to bodily force her away from this place.

Behind and to the side of Padmé, Ceetee gave a shrill whistled warning.

It happened in the blink of an eye. A dark, cloaked figure materialised directly behind Padmé. Before Anakin could do anything, it had clubbed Padmè over the head. Face turning blank with shock, she crumpled. The Narzgh caught her around the waist and picked her up as if she were a doll.

"NOOOO." On a surge of molten fury, Anakin went to leap after them, except something viciously strong wrapped around his left ankle, holding him fast. He fell, writhing and kicking out at the clawed hand that had him anchored, and yelling hoarsely. Bravely, Ceetee zapped the Narzgh holding Padmé, only to be kicked over onto its side for the attempt.

The droid landed with a protesting razz and a clang on the ground. At the same moment, a compartment on the droids compact body slid open, shooting something slim and cylindrical straight at Anakin. He caught it, activating his lightsaber and sweeping it down to slice off the forearm of the emerging Narzgh that had grabbed hold of him. Free, he rolled to his feet and gave pursuit.

Anakin's mind was a red haze. It was as if the broken man of mere minutes earlier had never existed. Every nerve, every atom of his body was focused on rescuing Padmé. Nothing else mattered. Did this creature really think that he'd let it snatch her away? He was a blurring streak pounding through the drumming rain. The Narzgh carrying Padmé spun to meet him, igniting a lightsaber of its own.

"Let her go!" Face tight, almost feral with fury, Anakin snarled the demand.

Instead of replying, the Narzgh struck out. Red and blue clashed. Anakin was hampered by the fact that he couldn't risk hurting Padmé—the Narzgh by being able to fight only single-handedly.

Slash, slash, parry, riposte, block. Anakin aimed for the Narzgh's legs only to be blocked. The constrained duel continued, until, obviously tiring of it, the Narzgh retreated, spun and ran towards a nearby abandoned speederbike. It moved superhumanly fast. Anakin followed. Other Narzgh came at him from all sides and were swiftly dispatched, not even slowing him down. He refused to let them—or _anything_ get in his way. His pounding strides created splashes on the sodden ground. The lights continued to zigzag over the now deserted square. The Narzgh and Padmé were highlighted for a second by that bright yellow glow just as the Narzgh climbed onto the speederbike with Padmé and started the repulsorlift engine with a throbbing whine. Anakin reached for more speed, knowing even as he did that he wouldn't get there in time to prevent the bike lifting off. Desperate, he used the Force to throw his lightsaber in a whirling arc, aiming for the rear thrusters.

With a sweep of his own lightsaber, the Narzgh knocked Anakin's aside. The bike, with both passengers, lifted and zoomed off into the rain-filled night sky. Calling his lightsaber back to his hand, Anakin sprinted for a second bike. This one was lying on its side in an ever-widening pool of water. Yanking it upright, he cranked the engine. It started with a deep-throated whine, and he took off in a pursuit that had now gone airborne.

The traffic over Roth was murderous, and every bit as panicked as the crowd in the square. Breathing shallowly, eyes blazing and refusing to blink even to shake off the water, Anakin kept the other speeder in sight no matter what manoeuvres the Narzgh tried. A maelstrom of emotions simmered at the back of his mind, but he refused to let them out. _He wasn't going to lose Padmè._ It was a chant that he repeated over and over.

An airbus jammed with passengers lumbered into his path, he skimmed over it. Ahead, the Narzgh sent the speeder zooming between the support struts of two huge, neon lit skyads. Terror beat along with Anakin's heart. Padmè was unconscious and merely slumped over the speederbike's frame. If she fell, she would plummet many thousands of meters. The Narzgh joined a skylane, forcing a small single-person, canopied speeder off and into oncoming traffic. The driver had no time to take evasive action and collided with another, larger speeder. Both erupted into flames before going into an uncontrolled spin.

Coaxing every last drop of speed from his bike, Anakin zoomed through the flames and followed the Narzgh—who took the next exit at the last possible moment. Throwing his weight into the corner, Anakin followed at a reckless speed and managed to close some of the distance. Seconds apart, the two bikes shot out of the tunnel. He could see the Narzgh hunched over the controls with Padmè still draped over the front flight controls. Anakin's gut clenched at the precarious sight. He dropped down few meters, ready to go into a dive to catch her if she did fall.

It didn't come to that. The two bikes shot over the boundary of the Core and into the Outer Rim. Anakin recognised where they were—flying over the recycling plant where he'd lost the old man to the Narzgh at the end of his first battle with the demons. Panic started to strangle him when the Narzgh went into a steep, screaming dive, aiming for the deep, dark water accumulated there. He didn't need to be told that the Narzgh intended to take Padmé into the third world through it. He didn't think twice. Anakin dived after it. When the water closed over the Narzgh, Padmé and the bike, Anakin's followed at full speed.

TBC


	15. Chapter's 16 and 17 another double!

ANON REPLIES:

mlhkvh5 – Hugs! I'm so sorry for leaving you with bated breath. Hopefully me putting up two chapters again will make up for that. I enjoyed writing chapter 15 and I think that can make all the difference, not to mention it's always wonderful to hear that others enjoyed reading it too. Thanks once again for such a wonderful review. You always make me smile and that is hugely appreciated!

NOTES

Note (1) –I have to mention the movies that have been my inspiration for the third world, namely: Serenity, Event Horizon, Cloverfield and I Am Legend.

Note (2) – Also credit to LadyZ on another site for giving me an idea in her last post following chapter sixteen. I'm sure she'll know what I mean.

Note (3) – I'm once again double posting two chapters into one. The reason being is that of all of the chapters I've written, I didn't like 16 so much and wanted to finish with one I did like, so you get chapter 17 too. Don't worry they are both fairly short for me. I hope you enjoy them. HUGS

**Chapter Sixteen**

Sidious was once again watching a holofeed. Unfortunately, such technology was his only true window into the city and had been ever since his arrival here. The limitation had irked him considerably, but he had to admit that a part of it had been self-imposed. He could have gone out at night, once the sun had gone down, but to have done so might have alerted Anakin and left a trail in the Force for his treacherous apprentice to follow. He had deemed it too risky—not so now.

He watched intently as the two speeder bikes entered the water, ripping through the veil that separated the second and third worlds. He froze the life-size image on the second bike—and the man atop it—the handsome face caught in lines of fierce, burning resolve. Sidious indulged himself by dwelling on the sight, rationalising that even a powerful Dark Lord of the Sith needed to gloat every once in a while.

Darth Vader, once again Anakin Skywalker. Youthful, powerful in the Force, skilled and resourceful, and still pitifully weak—with _love_.

"You have learned, _nothing!_" he rasped derisively. "How many times have I proved to you that love weakens you? Many times, over and over did I dedicate tasks to you that would drive that point home, and yet, once again, you've let yourself fall into the same trap—how satisfyingly predictable of you." Fingering the controller in his hand, he prepared to dispel the image, after making one final, satisfied statement, "At least now you are where you belong and can trouble me no longer."

He replaced the image with a current news feed and found utter hysteria. With the rain barrier no longer operating, the whole of the city was under attack and already at crisis point. Only a few emergency services were still operating, desperately trying to keep going in the chaos. A fitting end to what had been a crucial night, Sidious mused. Of course, it was also a fitting beginning to his true plans. Plans that would allow him to return to the living world. All he needed was power—tremendous power—and it would soon be within his grasp. Sidious knew, as did many of his illustrious forebears that the dark side thrived and fed off the horror and terror of others. The most incredible feats had all been accomplished under such conditions, including regenerating a dying body from the grief of a single person. All Sidious needed to do was feed it enough so that he could use it. A whole city, comprised of millions of tormented beings, should do the trick, and then Sidious would be able to tap into the most powerful surge of the dark side since the last of the Sith empires.

He could already feel it begin.

Very, very soon Vader's ridiculous sacrifice will have been entirely in vain.

Sidious' musings were interrupted by the arrival of Lyonides. He turned to find the man making a deep obeisance to him in the barely lit gloom. It didn't even occur to him to feel satisfaction at the transformation from demanding, prideful co-conspirator to obedient servant, he'd expected it. "Report."

"The Falleen witnessed Vader's descent into the third world and have already departed at full speed." Lyonides didn't lift his head even when he went on to add, "The city itself is overrun with Narzgh, who seem to be doing as you commanded, my lord, and not returning to the third world with their victims as they would normally do."

Sidious gave a cackle. "What good would they do me there? The third world, as Vader is about to find out, is a truly Force-forsaken place. I need them here, adding succour to the dark side." The black hood hiding his ravaged visage bobbed as he nodded. "Good. Good. This is excellent news and exactly as I foresaw." Savouring the news, Sidious turned away, pausing to gesture with one clawed hand. "Rise, my friend, and walk with me. I have an urge to feel the fresh night air on my skin tonight."

Lyonides did as he was bidden, rising and saying, "I am pleased that you're pleased, my lord."

Together, they walked leisurely towards the chamber exit. "There have been no problems, I take it?" asked Sidious.

There was infinitesimal pause. "A number of other ships managed to escape before the shields could be activated to prevent it. Unfortunately, this was unavoidable as we needed to allow the Falleen time to leave rather than risk coming under fire."

Sidious flicked an aggravated claw, dismissing the excuse. "How many ships?"

In the enclosed space of the tunnel linking the subterranean aspects of the palace from the main, he could hear Lyonides swallow his terror. "Less than a dozen, my lord—a hundred people at most."

Sidious mulled it over for a moment, letting Lyonides sweat, then said magnanimously, "So be it. As you've pointed out, a few escapees using the window of opportunity presented by the Falleen would have been unavoidable."

He let Lyonides take a shuddering breath of relief, before tacking on, "However, I will be less lenient if you tell me that the necessary adjustments to the barrier have not yet been carried out."

"The adjustment are complete, my lord." Relief at being able to say so suffused Lyonides' voice. "When the sun rises tomorrow, the barrier will block it out completely. Junga Roth will remain in darkness for as long as you deem it necessary."

Ironically, considering Lyonides' statement, a strong light glimmered up ahead, literally the light at the end of the tunnel, but not for Junga Roth. Darth Sidious no longer felt the need to hide.

ooo

Freyrr was flying the Limidian with an even more battered Ceetee rolling around the cockpit and toodling dolefully. The atmosphere was dire and funereal. The Wookiee was no help, unable to restrain herself from giving out long, shattered howls that flooded the cramped cabin with the truly heart-rending sounds of wrenching grief. Not only had they lost two friends to the worst imaginable fate, but they'd been forced to flee a city that was literally being torn apart by demons.

Lorne was in the crew quarters, trying to get an injured Sal to lie still so that his wounds could be treated. Aggravated, he pressed a hand to the man's meaty shoulder when Sal tried once again to rise from the narrow cot. "I can't get these bacta bandages on you if you keep moving around…" he jerked a thumb towards his own chest "…lounge singer remember, _not_ medic."

Sal barely listened, too caught up in the scenes he was replaying in his head. "I should have listened more closely. I should've made him give me the damned details. Kriffin' dreams. He knew…he saw—I told him I'd crash and burn. I warned him not to lay it on me. I'm crap at keeping promises. If I hadn't gotten myself shot by some knuckle-head of a guard, I might have been able to do something."

"So you've said…about a hundred times. Trust me, saying it again won't change anything. It happened. Deal with it. We need to get you patched up and back in the pilot's seat, buckeroo."

That caught Sal's attention enough that he finally lay still so that the gel-coated bandage could be positioned and sealed on his shoulder. "Who's flying the ship now?"

"Freyrr—and I don't think she's in the right frame of mind right now… know what I mean?"

Sal grimaced, catching on. Of all of them, Freyrr had lost the most. Padmé and the Wookiee had been more like family than friends. If Sal riddled with guilt and grief, he didn't want to even imagine how she felt. Grunting in pain, he turned over so that Lorne could put another bacta bandage on the blaster bolt's exit wound. "So, get on with patching me up so that I get can get back to doing what I can do right—flying a damned ship."

Lorne did as requested, none too gently, and over-riding his irascible friend's pained protest with a reminder, "Just remember to head south east, and you owe me a song, buster." Turning to dispose of the packaging, he muttered under his breath, feelingly, "God help us both."

When he turned back, Lorne found a pair of scowling dark eyes watching him from the pillow of the cot. "Tell me about that old man again. Slower this time."

ooo

Instinct made Anakin tense and hold his breath when he broke the surface of the water. Only instead of colliding with solid ground, he found himself pulling free of the drag of the water to fly free and unimpeded up into the air. It was still raining and as black and bleak as deep space. The feel of an icy wind rushing over his skin was unmistakable, as was the unimaginable stench of putrid rot. It didn't take a genius to realise that he'd left Roth behind and was now in the third world.

Blinking to clear his vision, he shifted, moving his centre of gravity to lean over the handlebars again in an effort to reach maximum speed. He didn't bother looking around, focusing purely on the other bike racing ahead of him. The hot flare of the bike's exhaust vents made it easy to keep track of despite the unrelenting darkness.

He was so intent on rescuing Padmè that he didn't notice straight away that something else was missing. When it did finally register, he felt a stronger than ever frisson of panic. Even when drugged to insensibility he'd been able to _feel_ the Force, but not reach it—now, he couldn't even feel it.

Ahead of him, the bike bearing the Narzgh and Padmè dipped, swerved and then disappeared from view. Every other thought flew out of his head. Following, Anakin felt the solid mass of something brushing by on his left. Going with instinct, he banked sharply left the moment that _mass_ disappeared. The other bike came back into view. Relief had no time to form. The dim light thrown off by both bikes revealed what at first appeared to be tunnel walls—yet, there was something about them that was both too uniform, and too unnatural to have been born from any mere formation of rock.

With the exception of the two speeder bikes, the darkness was absolute and nightmarishly oppressive. Unable to tap into the Force, Anakin was doubly blind and without a clue of what horrors might lie ahead. Terror for Padmè, and the unknown, was almost overwhelming—it was a fear unlike any he'd ever felt before, curling at the edges of his mind and gnawing at his insides.

Coming with minutes of dying on Mustafar had not cut him off from the Force, and neither had being less than half a man as Vader. This abrupt end of a comfort he'd enjoyed since birth was truly torturous. He felt like a defenceless child again, or a blind sand grub about to be eaten by a Worrt.

The only way he could deal with it was by concentrating exclusively on the bike in front. He couldn't lose Padmè too. Nothing else mattered, he reminded himself. _Nothing_. When the Narzgh dodged and weaved, Anakin copied, blind to whatever obstacle was being avoided and praying that he didn't mis-time his manoeuvres. Then the light started to change. A tinge of red appeared overhead, pushing back the darkness enough that Anakin could see that he wasn't in a tunnel at all, but racing though the skeletal remains of a decaying city. Thick towers soared up from below and speared into the now blood-red sky. Anakin had time for one thought—that it looked uncannily like Junga Roth—before the Narzgh began to dive.

At the same moment, a shrieking wailing began that seemed to strike out from every direction, echoing and rebounding into a sickening sensory assault. The hairs on Anakin's body rose up to stand on end as he too went into a dive.

The Narzgh was heading for a landing platform that jutted out from one of the towers. No amount of coaxing for more speed enabled Anakin to catch up and reach the platform before the Narzgh had landed, dismounted and slung a still limp Padmè over its shoulder.

Anakin didn't slow down as he too approached the landing pad. The Narzgh was almost at the entrance to the building. The bike touched down hard, threatening for a moment to careen out of control, raising double arcs of protesting sparks from where the undercarriage met the floor. He leapt from the seat before the bike had come to a complete stop, lunging towards the doorway that was closing before his eyes. Leaping the last few steps and twisting to the side, he just about made it through the gap before the door sealed with a hissing clunk.

Inside the stench of corrupted flesh was a thousand times worse, but worse again was the noise. The screaming hurt his ears. It was as if a million people were having the skin peeled off their bodies inch by agonising inch. It went on and on, each one slightly different in pitch and volume—hoarse screeches, short-mindless bursts, long and drawn out wails—unspeakable pain and fathomless despair given nightmarish voice. It still seemed to be coming from every direction at once. It was so much worse to not be able to see or sense where those tortured souls might be enduring their suffering. Without the Force to aid his senses, he could be surrounded by them and not know it.

Anakin's skin crawled.

With no other choice, he ignited his lightsaber for the illumination it could provide. With the hilt vibrating reassuringly in his hand, he started to run down what looked like an empty corridor. The blue glow from his blade bobbed as he ran, throwing out even more shadows. No matter how he strained to pierce the darkness beyond the reach of the lightsaber, he couldn't see the Narzgh. His heart stuttered while panic slithered through him like a poison serpent.

_Where was Padmè?_

His answer was a reciprocating red glow flaring to life several meters ahead. The Narzgh moved unnaturally fast and closed the distance. Anakin barely had time to raise his own blade to block the first strike. At the same time, he was fully aware that without the Force to aid him he couldn't risk using his usual fighting styles. Two of the main benefits of using a lightsaber were its lack of weight and speed—the very same reasons that made the weapon so dangerous to non-Force sensitives. It was all too easy to cut off your own limbs, an experience he wasn't eager to repeat.

The Narzgh struck again, faster, harder in a double-strike. Anakin blocked once, and twisting his wrist managed to deflect the second powerful slash before the red blade could slice through his right shoulder. Keeping his own lightsaber in front of his body, Anakin used a two-handed grip to maintain a constant field of defence, at the same time trying not to give ground.

It didn't take him long to realise that this was an unequal fight. Even without the use of the dark side of the Force, the Narzgh was faster and stronger. Motivation was the only point on which both opponents were equal—the Narzgh was fuelled by ruthless, hungry hatred, Anakin by a desperate need to find and save the woman he loved.

The battle was long and brutal and no matter how hard he tried, Anakin was unable to sustain a counterattack that had any hope of giving him victory. The last twenty fours hours had sapped his strength already. He was all but blind in the suffocating gloom, he was tiring and his mere human reflexes were deadly slow.

While Anakin parried a deceivingly long chop aimed at his neck, the Narzgh shifted at the last moment and lashed out with a snap kick that caught his left hip and sent him crashing into the far wall. The collision meant that Anakin's lightsaber scored the wall. The moment the humming plasma touched the oddly bumpy surface, there was a deafening shriek of inhuman agony, and worse, the acrid smell of burning flesh.

It was a repulsive distraction that almost cost him his life. Frozen for two beats with disbelieving shock, he lost the time to dodge out of the way of the descending red lightsaber. He raised his own to block again, but the immense power behind the Narzgh's strike drove him down onto one knee. A second and third downward strike followed. Each time the lightsabers connected, he felt as if the bones in his arms were shattering. There was no escape. Anakin had no leverage to lash out with a kick of his own. He was going to die and he knew it.

The Narzgh too seemed to sense that victory was at hand. Stepping back, it raised the red blade high over its head.

The unmistakable sound of blaster fire surprised both combatants. Caught with its arms raised, the Narzgh jerked as two red bolts slammed into its exposed side, followed by three more in quick succession. This time, Anakin didn't let the distraction stop him from doing what needed doing. Summoning his failing strength with gritted teeth, he shifted the lightsaber hilt into his left hand and swung, amputating the Narzgh just below the knees.

With a mingled, strangled howl of rage and pain, the Narzgh managed to land on the stumps of its knees rather than fall backwards. Refusing to give up, it also tried to carry through with its own killing strike. It lacked power though. Anakin deflected it with ease and then reversed the direction of his own blade to slice off the Narzgh's face from forehead to chin.

Finally defeated, the Narzgh toppled sideways. The hilt of the red lightsaber clattered to the floor out of sight in the dark. Panting, aching all over and shaking with adrenaline overload, Anakin stumbled to his feet and raised his lightsaber, trying to pierce the darkness back the way the Narzgh had first appeared.

"Padmè," he called hoarsely.

An equally unsteady, "Anakin," was the reply he got, and then he saw her.

Her clothing was ripped and stained. The severely styled hair was in ruins and the carefully applied cosmetics that had disguised her face were either gone, smudged or streaked. But, she was alive and she'd never looked more beautiful to him.

It was lucky that she'd lowered the blaster in her hand, because he didn't stop to think, just closed the distance to pull her into a one-armed, emotionally wrought embrace. Tears burned his eyes and then slid down his cheeks when he felt her arm slide around his waist to cling back just as tightly. It was an achingly familiar embrace with the top of her head tucked under his chin and her face nestled into his neck.

"I thought I'd lost you," he whispered in a voice made raspy with remembered despair.

She gave a short, pained laugh. The puff of her breath was warm on his neck. "No more than I thought I'd lost you."

Anakin let his eyes close, drinking in her warmth and scent. The tremors in his gut that his terror for her had caused still hadn't abated. He held her tighter. He half wished that he could meld them together so that she could never be taken from him again. "I had to try and rescue you."

Giving another rueful laugh, Padmè pulled back just enough to look up into his face. "Those were exactly my sentiments too." Tenderly, she reached up to smooth away a tear that had yet to dry on his cheek. "It seems that more than our fates are entwined, Ani."

As if he'd been mind-wiped, Anakin abruptly forgot where they were or the dangers that surrounded them. The softness in her eyes and voice swept everything away but her. With the exception of his pounding heart, it was as if his body went still and silent, waiting in suspended animation. He knew that expression, knew what caused her dark eyes to brighten and deepen in just that way. He recognised that incredible softness for what it was. He'd once basked in the all-consuming passion invoked by that very same emotion—love.

_She still loved him_!

The knowledge swept over him with the power of a supernova. He didn't even need to hear the words. He could see it—feel it in the way she trembled in his embrace and her heart beat frantically against his ribs.

His own heart wanted to burst. Anakin tried to speak and found he couldn't. Instead, he ducked his head to capture her lips in a kiss that was fraught with all of the feelings he couldn't vocalise. Only when her fingers cupped and stroked his jaw did the kiss gentle, becoming soft and treasuring. This time there was no holding back or denying the urgency of need. Their breath mingled with each lingering brush of lips, relearning taste and texture.

The moment was soon shattered though. Without warning the hair-raising shrieking began again. They leapt apart. Fumbling at her utility belt, Padmè pulled a small palm-sized flashlight free, switched it on and swept it around. "What _is_ that?"

The flashlight was much more efficient at giving off illumination than his lightsaber, so Anakin deactivated his weapon to conserve power. He was shaking and he didn't have a clue if it was adrenaline or their kiss. "I have no idea, but whatever it is, it doesn't sound happy."

They turned a slow circle, searching for a clue. "It?" queried Padmè, shakily. It was hard to hear her over the cacophony. "It doesn't sound like just one thing, but many thousands all screaming at once. I've never heard anything like it. It's horrible."

As he didn't disagree, Anakin said nothing. By this time they'd almost completed the circle, and stopped in tandem when the light fell on the same portion of wall that had come into contact with Anakin's lightsaber. It wasn't the oozing scar that made them freeze. The wall was bulging and stretching, at some points to such an extent that the sharp furrows of five claws could be clearly recognised. The shrieking got louder as if it was actual flesh and bone that was being ripped and shredded.

"Where exactly are we?" asked Padmè in a voice that hinted that she'd already guessed and was praying to be mistaken.

"The third world," answered Anakin bluntly, "And _that_ has to be more Narzgh trying to make themselves a shortcut."

"Through a wall?"

Grabbing her hand, he tugged to get her moving. "Somehow, I don't think it's made of ferrocrete. We need to go."

The last thing Anakin saw before they turned and ran was something suspiciously like blood starting to seep as the fabric of the 'wall' began to come asunder. There was no time for caution. With Anakin leading, they ran full tilt back towards the exit and the speeder bikes. The problem being that there was more than one section of corridor under attack. The flashlight revealed a sickening sight along the whole length of their escape route. There were so _many_ of them. Urgency and dread curdled in his gut.

"We're not going to make it," yelled Padmè over the ear-pounding noise. "They're almost through."

Ahead of them, perhaps a meter before the exit to the landing platform, Anakin saw a bloody, clawed hand erupt through the _ceiling_. Dozens more followed it almost immediately. They were being pursued from more than one side. Padmè was right, he realised with a sinking heart, they weren't going to make it. They had to get out of this corridor _now_, even if it meant cutting themselves off from their only means of transport.

It couldn't be helped he decided grimly, they had to be alive to escape.

Reaching out, he snagged Padmè's arm to bring her to a skidding stop and activated his lightsaber. Eyes wide with fear, she opened her mouth to speak, then snapped it shut again when he began to cut his own doorway into the opposite wall. The plasma blade made short work of it, but every second felt like an hour. The stench was indescribable. Once it was finally done, he pushed Padmè through first and then followed.

ooo

With the constant screaming they had no way of knowing how closely they were being pursued. The Narzgh could be right on their heels and the first warning they'd have of it was the slicing rake of those claws piercing their skin. It was a truly terrifying thought. The building or whatever it was seemed to have no purpose except to merely exist. There were no windows and no light except for the flashlight. Sometimes even that meagre light was too much when Padmè would imagine that she could make out faces buried in the walls as she ran past. If she was imagining them.

It wasn't just the walls.

There was a constant danger of stumbling, either because of the uneven floor or sudden slick patches that changed to tacky after a few more steps. Running over them, it was an effort not to think about blood or other bodily fluids. Unfortunately, it was a notion that was difficult to dispel when everything bore a distinctly organic look in the glow from the flashlight. Padmè felt an icy shudder work its way down her spine. It was like being buried alive in a maze created by a psychotic madman. Feeling her own sanity slip, she wished that the screaming would stop just for a moment, even if it meant being at the mercy of her own terrified heartbeat and choppy, panting breaths. Fear writhed like a live thing inside her, impossible to tamp down for more than a millisecond before it roared back to life. A part of her wanted to cover her eyes and ears and simply run, perhaps screaming out her own terror.

Instead, she just kept running.

They hadn't stopped, hadn't dared. Her lungs burned and legs ached, but that was nothing to the sheer unmitigated horror of knowing that they were stuck in the third world with no means of escape. They didn't know where they were or what direction to take. They had no plan, perhaps even no hope.

_Stop it! Don't think about it. It won't do you any good. Just keep running_.

Padmè was so caught up in the miasma of her own mind that she almost barrelled into Anakin's back when he slowed his pace to a jog. Ahead of them, the gloom was lightened by a red tinge and she noticed for the first time that cold air chaffed her bare arms. Were they finally coming to an exit from this dreadful place? She dared not hope. The disappointment would be unbearable.

By unspoken agreement, they sped up again. The light continued to increase. Padmè could just make out another doorway a few meters ahead, this one jammed open. What was beyond it, she couldn't see yet. Afterwards, she couldn't say what caused her to spin in a circle with the flashlight to check behind them. She caught only a brief flash because she hadn't slowed down, but it was enough to almost stop her heart. Her blood turned to ice. Hundreds of Narzgh were streaking towards them, defying gravity by loping along ceilings, walls and floor in a swarm of slathering hatred.

**Chapter Seventeen**

"Anakin!"

Anakin was keeping Padmè so close to him that he felt rather than heard her scream of warning. He looked back and what he saw in the flashlights beam went beyond a nightmare. Animated corpses with gouged-out eyes, flayed, burnt skin and howling mouths stretched wide to show their fangs filled his vision. There were more Narzgh than he could keep track of—there wasn't an inch of surface free from the swarming demons. They had perhaps seconds before being overtaken. In the heartbeat it took to realise their danger, he also realised that their only option was to try and outrun it.

Padmè needed no persuading. Adrenaline spiked, oiling muscles and pumping oxygen to smooth out already laboured breathing. Together they sprinted for the exit and the red glow that constituted daylight in this world. As they did, Anakin prayed that it wasn't a dead end or a sheer drop. He didn't want to even think about how many thousands of meters below them the surface of this world might be.

Grimly, he thought it would probably be preferable to plunge that height to their deaths than find themselves at the _mercy_ of demented beasts that had none. At least it would be quick and they'd likely be unconscious when they hit the ground. Fighting the Narzgh so often had meant being close enough to sometimes see into what was left of their minds, and there was no way in this hell that he was going to let that happen to either Padmè or himself …

They burst through the exit and onto a crude skywalk. It was nothing like the smooth silvery skywalks of Junga Roth with their clear transparisteel canopies, but seemingly made up of the same organo-technology as the buildings and open to the elements. Racing across it, Anakin was hit with a desperate plan. He adjusted his pace to fall back, letting Padmè take the lead and ignited his lightsaber. He didn't need to look behind him to know that the Narzgh were closing on them fast. He could almost feel their hot fetid breath on the back of his neck. Worse, now that they were outside the eerie screaming was muted and he could hear the grunts and snarls of the pursuing horde. Icy sweat slid down his spine. He had to time it right. He couldn't be too early, and definitely not too late. Waiting until they were half way across, he spun on his heel, slashing down and around with the blue blade in a wide arc, praying that the bridge would be no more resistant to the super-heated energy that the building they'd just escaped from. It wasn't. The blade went through without trouble.

The skywalk shuddered but held. It had been a calculated risk that had luckily paid off. Still pounding after Padmè, Anakin waited until she was only a meter from the end to repeat the spinning manoeuvre, slicing into the skywalk once again. Just as the lightsaber cleared the last inches of the surreal construction, the closest Narzgh lunged, claws extended to rend cloth and flesh. Not a moment too soon a large chunk of the bridge fell away into the darker abyss below, taking hundreds of yowling demons with it and leaving a gap that would be impossible to jump. Those Narzgh not caught in the impromptu trap howled their frustration at being thwarted. Having taken care of any immediate pursuit, Anakin then sped up to catch up with Padmè.

White-faced, she rose from her crouch at the end of the skywalk where she'd intended to cover him with her blaster if it proved necessary. Her grip on the pistol was so hard that her knuckles were bone-white and still failed to hide the tremors running through her.

"Now what?" she asked when he stopped, panting for breath in front of her. "They'll find another way to get at us. If there aren't more of them in there," she added with a jerk of her head to the second tower that was now their only possible route.

Her voice was hoarse with horror and there was an underlying desperation in her dark eyes that made Anakin's heart clutch. "I don't know." He wished he had a better answer for her, but he couldn't bring himself to lie. He had to force himself not to drop eye contact and so keep hidden his own dread and uncertainty. "All we can do is keep going and find some means of getting back home."

It sounded pathetic even to his own ears…dangerously so. He wanted to make her a promise that he _would_ find a way—the same sort of promise that he'd made so many times in the distant past, but couldn't frame the words. Perhaps because he _had_ made them, and never kept them.

Expression stark, she nodded once, an acknowledgment of his honesty. Anakin only felt worse, because he hadn't yet told her that he had no Force-abilities whatsoever. While they'd been searching through the alien dark for a way out he hadn't been able to block the fear that, in a very real sense, he was less fit to protect her than the rawest recruit—whose skills wouldn't be founded on a binding, living energy field that was completely missing—a fact that leeched away every drop of assurance no matter how hard he tried to shore it up.

One galling thought kept circling his mind. He was _nothing_ without the Force.

When she turned to enter the tower first, Anakin reached out to stop her. She gave him a quizzical look that spoke volumes about her opinion of delays. Anakin opened his mouth, compelled by some nameless impulse to apologise. Once again, the words tumbled on his tongue but didn't pass his lips. _'Padmè, I'm so, so sorry!'_ His throat closed, compressing with misery, guilt and shame. Their kiss might never have happened—he didn't deserve even those few brief moments of joy. The way he saw it, if she hadn't tried to rescue him from the consequences of his own evil, Padmè wouldn't now be stuck in the third world and suffering this pitiful attempt of his to rescue her in return.

A fist of fear, one of many he'd suffered over the last few days, squeezed his guts. A single Narzgh had defeated him—almost killed him—what chance did they stand against thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands?

_Oh yeah, that's wonderful thinking. Very positive. Are you crazy? If you say any of that you'll only make things worse for her. Is that what you want? Are you so ready to give up?_

He'd hesitated too long. Padmè frowned up at him. "What is it Anakin?"

"Nothing," he finally said, and tugged her behind him. "I'll go first."

ooo

Dawn in Junga Roth brought no relief from the horrors of the night to the inhabitants of the Core. The barrier that had protected them from attacks by the underworld for so long was now ensuring that their torment was unending. In a bizarre and abrupt reversal of fortune, those in the Outer Rim who had managed to evade the invading Narzgh found themselves temporarily safe under a blazing sun. The general consensus was, however, that sundown would equalise all.

Many of the survivors who had crawled and scrabbled out of hiding places considered the forests outside the city the safer haven now. There was a stampede for the huge perimeter gate. It was pandemonium and the crush of vehicles and wild-eyed, panicking people, merciless. It became a battle of the biggest and strongest against the smallest and weakest, with inevitable results. In the melee, no one noticed an old man garbed in sand-coloured tunic and pants and a flowing brown cloak thread through the edges of the throng. More astonishingly, no one noticed that during the time it took to reach the last of the evacuees his hair had gone from white to reddish-blonde. The blue grey of his eyes remained sharp and intelligent, but the skin of his face smoothed to that of a much younger man.

On his left, dark, brooding and impenetrable, the Core remained locked down tight, keeping victims within rather than locking them out as was usually the case.

The irony wasn't lost on Obonè, but it didn't mitigate the horror she felt for those trapped inside. The evidence of what they would be suffering was all around her. The temple in Whores Hole was serving as an emergency clinic. Having staggered here herself after a narrow escape, she'd ended up as a draftee nurse as her injuries had been far less acute than most. She'd tended to horrific slashes and jagged, gaping bites, all the while crooning softly to her traumatised charges. They didn't seem to notice if every now and then her voice broke. She didn't need medical training to know that many would not make it to nightfall. Darkly, she wondered if perhaps they weren't the lucky ones. More than once, she'd considered following the long straggling line of refugees as they headed into the forest, but found she just couldn't do it. She couldn't banish the knowledge that millions of her city's citizens were facing an unspeakable ordeal. Hellish stories were already circulating of cannibalism, torture, rape and mutilation glimpsed by those fortunate enough to escape to the Outer Rim before it was sealed off and all communication ceased. Obonè had seen a few transmissions herself that would forever give her nightmares. Bile spat up into her mouth as she remembered what had happened to Selona Vere right in front of the camera—dragged out of sight and leaving only a frozen background image of the city under attack, the reporter's frenzied screams had sounded barely human, as if they were being ripped from her throat. The third world had truly been unleashed upon Junga Roth.

Obonè knew that she wasn't the only one wondering how long it would be before it was their turn. They had nowhere to go and no refuge to seek. Help was gone. Padmè and her Jedi were gone … everyone was suffering and dying.

The part of her that was worn down and grieving wondered what would be the point of leaving. It was over anyway. Or soon would be.

Numbly, she lifted a sheet and draped it over the blank, slack face of the last in a long line of patients who had been broken in ways that no creature should ever experience. Once the body was decently covered, she braced her hands on the side of the gurney, letting her bare, bald head bow as if under a great weight.

Minutes later, she still hadn't moved when she caught the tell-tale soft scrape of footfalls behind her. She didn't raise her head or turn to see who it was. "A few of us think its past time to start planning what we do next," said a female voice. "As the only member of the council left we reckon you ought to have some say in it."

More footfalls, more people. _As the only member of the council left_. The words were like knives in her heart. All the others were gone or captured. All her friends and colleagues were likely dead. Along with some she truly cared for—her family—_Saber and Padmè_. Pain spasmed and along with it Obonè felt a bone-deep exhaustion drop over her like a ton of ferrocrete.

Still, she kept her head bowed and eyes closed, if for no other reason than to hide the bleakness she felt. When she spoke her tone was carefully civil—too careful. "Thank you for thinking of me, Jazz but I don't have anything useful to add. You all go ahead." Tiredly, she lifted her head enough to gesture at the rows and rows of injured being tended to by overwhelmed and inexperienced carers. "As you see, I have more than enough to keep me busy here."

"The dying are pretty much dead and the injured are slowing to trickle with most folks heading for the forest," reasoned a deep male voice. "Personally, I'm not much of a tree lover and I figure the same goes for you, Councillor or you wouldn't be here. You were in Skywalker's inner circle, we need your input."

It was the wrong button to push. She saw red. "Well that just too bad because I've got nothing to say." Whipping around, she finally faced Jester and his bounty hunters, throwing up an arm so sharply a few of those seasoned hunters took a backwards step. "Except to point out that _we_ may have brought this on." That possibility had been eating at her for hours and it all came pouring out now. With fire in her eyes and her face twisted with self-recrimination she raged on. "Have you considered that in messing with the city's security we paved the way? I knew that plan was plain crazy, but I agreed to it anyway. Maybe we triggered something we shouldn't have done." Her chest was heaving. Guilt closed in on her. Eyeballing the Besalisk, she didn't see a stranger join the group. "What if it was us who shut down the barrier—?"

Hands fisted, she cut off the last because she couldn't bear to finish. Those close enough to have overheard stopped what they were doing, frozen at what they were hearing. Even the air inside the old temple seemed to hold its breath.

Into this silence, the stranger spoke and his voice carried easily. "You had nothing to do with the barrier ceasing to operate or the Narzgh attack. You were betrayed by Petris Lyonides. He, along with a one-time Sith Lord called Darth Sidious, planned it all."

ooo

Lyonides couldn't bear to look, think or feel.

The Premier of Junga Roth was sitting completely naked in an armchair in his luxuriously appointed apartment. He also couldn't bear to wear any clothing, all felt tainted by the putrid stink of what was going on all around his city. In the last few hours he'd taken so many showers that his skin was raw and still he felt…abominable. Every single source of light in the apartment was set on maximum power and the window screens were on full black-out mode, blocking the view. Lyonides couldn't block out the sound though, not when some of it was coming from his holotranceiver.

On his knees, Natar was pleading incoherently. His colourless eyes were bugging out with terror and sweat dripped down his face to darken the neck of his already sodden robes.

"_You have to help me. They took my men. I barely got away. You said...you never said…you promised. They're here. You can't leave me like this. Why do they want me? You must have told them not me? I don't understand this…"_ If possible his voice went an even higher pitch and his eyes were all but wheeling in his head. The pleading morphed to hysterical demand. …_I've dedicated my career to you. The things I've done have all been for you. I helped you shore up your power. I helped you kill your father. You owe me! _

Lyonides' blank expression didn't change.

"_They're trying to get in right now. I can't get them to understand that they should leave me alone—that I'm not like the others._" A noise to the right of the recording made Natar jerk his head around to stare with absolute terror at something out of range of the holocam. "_They're almost through. You need to call them off. Call them off. Call them off NOW!_

That was the last clear word out of Natar's mouth. The rest were garbled, petrified screams of denial and strangled pleading for mercy. Lyonides' fingers twitched spasmodically where they rested on the armrest, but he otherwise showed no reaction to the unspeakable images playing out in front of his reddened and sunken gaze. When it was finally over, he permitted himself to shut those same eyes, if only to lessen the sensation of them having been skewered.

It didn't help. The flashbacks that ran across the back of eyelids were so full of perversion and horror that mere seconds passed before he jerked them open again.

He wanted to get drunk, but even the desire for insensibility couldn't overcome self-preservation. It was the same sense of self-survival at all costs that had induced him to form an arrangement with Sidious, and he felt its effects no less now.

It couldn't matter that he hadn't realised just how bad it would be, that this new deal would be so much worse than the first. Lyonides had realised long ago that he'd gone too far to change his mind—that his very life depended on serving and pleasing a demonised galactic emperor. That realisation had turned him into a true servant of darkness. Everything he'd done, and was still willing to do, boiled down to a single unassailable fact—one thing terrified him more than any Narzgh, and that was dying. Fear closed his throat and his mind skittered away from such thoughts. Madness was preferable and, sitting naked and isolated, he welcomed the insanity brewing in his brain.

Purposefully, he activated the playback function and watched Natar's last few minutes all over again.

ooo

Padmè's skin was crawling.

She tried to tell herself that the sensation of being watched was just her mind playing tricks on her. On the plus side, if it could be called that, was her certainty that a Narzgh wouldn't just sit back and watch their prey from a distance. Such restraint was beyond them. Still the feeling persisted. Anakin's confession about not being able to feel the Force here hadn't helped. That had been a blow of truly galactic proportions and his tortured expression when he told her had given her a glimpse of how lost he felt without it.

Feeling panic rise at that line of thought, Padmè forced her mind back to the present.

The flashlight beam continued to light their way and so far they'd managed to avoid dead-ends, meaning the building wasn't screaming. In fact, it was eerily quiet. So quiet that it would have been silent if not for their breathing and steady jogging. It wasn't the only difference between this and other parts of this surreal and nightmarish city. Padmè could _feel_ that there were differences, she just couldn't pinpoint what those differences might be. It was colder, but she might even be imagining that. She only knew that she was even more spooked than ever.

"Anakin."

"What?" He kept his voice as hushed as hers.

"I'm not complaining, but don't you think it's odd that we haven't encountered any more Narzgh?"

"Very," he conceded shortly, confirming that he felt equally as uneasy.

For some reason the bottom fell out of Padmè's stomach. "We haven't seen one for over an hour. I thought our luck had run out back in that second tower—they had us surrounded and then they just disappeared, falling back without rhyme or reason." She hated not knowing why. "It's as if something or someone scared them off."

Having spoken it out-loud, Padmè realised that she desperately wanted Anakin to tell her that she'd imagined it, that such a scenario was ridiculous—to joke about what could possibly scare a horde of demons.

"I got the same impression, and, if we're right, I hope we don't meet whomever or whatever it was," Anakin returned grimly. "But that's not the only thing that has me wondering. I want to know why there are so few Narzgh. We've seen a few hundred, maybe a thousand tops—where are the rest of them?"

"Perhaps they have some predators of their own?" ventured Padmè, and shivered.

"Another cheerful thought, but I don't buy it. The raids on Roth were at least double the size of what we've encountered so far. It makes no sense that there should be so few of them in their own world."

"It's only been a few hours. Maybe the raid in Roth isn't over yet. They could still be there."

Even as she said she felt icy cold drip through her veins. Those poor people…

She felt rather than saw Anakin's shrug. "Maybe." He didn't sound convinced though.

By mutual, silent consent they both sped up, not liking the idea that thousands more Narzgh might be dropping in on them at any minute.

They rounded a corner, tensing until they had a clear view and found the corridor ahead as empty as the others they'd run down in the last hour. This one had a light source right in the middle though. It was the same red glow as before; after so long in the darkness it seemed brighter than she remembered it.

It was a balcony. Together, they stood and stared down at the cityscape spread out before them. They were still hundreds of meters up from the ground and it was their first opportunity to really study where they were and try and find a way out. So far they'd been passing from building to building, level to level, trying to find their way down to ground level without benefit of turbolifts.

It took a few seconds for Padmè to realise why she felt a nagging sense of familiarity. When it hit her, she blinked, stunned. "Anakin, do you realise what this is?"

He glanced at her with a frown and then back at the view. "No. What?"

In answer, she raised a shaking finger, pointing into the distance. "Does that look like the palace to you? And there, to the right, it's the exact same size and shape as the Temple of Atonement." She pointed further to the left, "And there, I'd swear that's the Library Rotunda and next to it my apartment building."

Anakin's frown dug deeper. "What are you saying?"

Padmè hardly knew how to put it without sounding insane. "This place … this whole city … it's like some deranged, dreadful mirror-image of Roth."

It took him a moment longer to make the same comparisons. Baffled disgust dropped over his features. "I see what you mean. Only instead of being built it almost seems to have been grown, or moulded."

Gingerly, Padmè laid a hand on the enclosure and then swiftly removed it with a shudder. "It's not vegetation though—more like flesh and bone, only icy cold instead of warm."

Like a corpse, she thought and felt sick.

"Whatever it's built from, I've never come across it before."

"Why would the Narzgh build or grow a city that looks so much like ours?" said Padmè. "It makes no sense."

"Maybe reflection is only a part of what allows them to rip through the veil," suggested Anakin. "Perhaps they had to replicate where they want to break through _to_ first."

Opening her mouth to agree that was possible, something else caught her eye, a flash of white that made her jerk her head around and bring the flashlight back up. "Did you see that?"

"See what, where?" Anakin whipped around too.

Heart pounding, Padmè trained the flashlight back on the archway to the corridor. "Just there, I thought I saw someone."

Without preamble, Anakin grabbed her hand and dragged her over to the opposite side of the balcony, inching them both back towards the archway and making very sure that they had the best view possible of both sides of the corridor. "I can't see anything."

The corridor was empty. "No. Neither can I, not anymore."

"No more lingering. We need to go." Keeping hold of her arm, Anakin got them moving again with even greater urgency.

A meter from the end of the corridor, Padmè saw it again—a small, slight figure and a face that was gone again in a flash. "There, did you see that. Gods! It's a child!"

"_What!_"

Padmè sped up, refusing to wait to explain, "Anakin, it was a child. I saw him. He was right through there. He looked scared."

"Padmè! Stop!" Anakin swore under his breath and caught up with her, yanking her to a standstill before she could hurtle through the door. His face was grimmer than ever. She could feel his frustration at her foolhardiness. "What are you thinking of racing off like that?" he snapped, glaring. "What if there'd been a pack of Narzgh waiting for you?"

"Anakin, the _child_!"

"Think about it. When was the last time you saw a child?—the living world." Scowling, he shook his head at her. "Younglings don't come here, or even to the second world. Not little ones anyway. You know that."

He was right, but Padmè was certain. She glared right back at him. "I know what I saw Anakin."

He let her go, but those hard blue eyes didn't soften. "Tell me how he could possibly have survived being here?"

"I don't know."

"It's impossible for an adult to survive long in this hell and you know it. A child would have no chance. There's no technology, people, food or water here. It's just a grotesque wasteland pretending to be something more. You must have imagined him. There's no other explanation."

Knowing she was being dangerously stubborn, Padmè still refused to drop her eyes or give in. The boys face was imprinted on her mind. He'd looked about six years old. "We need to make sure."

Seconds ticked by when she was certain Anakin was going to refuse. She wasn't sure how she'd handle it if he did. Finally, he sighed, scrubbed his face and offered a grudging compromise. "Fine, we'll look for him _and_ a way out of here at the same time." Still frowning, he turned away to take the lead, muttering sarcastically, "Force knows I like to be busy, but this is getting ridiculous."

ooo

The lack of food that he'd cited as a reason why a child could never survive here was a real worry for Anakin, _for them_, and one that made getting out of this hellish city even more imperative. They'd found plenty of bizarre rooms and chambers filled with odd shapes and lumps that might have been some twisted lunatic's idea of furniture, but not a scrap of anything edible. As for water, he was hoping for another downpour when they eventually reached terra-firma.

"Maybe we took the wrong turning back there," fretted Padmè "It's been too long and we haven't seen him."

"We're not backtracking," Anakin replied firmly. He wished he could see her face, but the flashlight was needed to sweep ahead for dangers and stray figures. "I'm sorry Padmè, but perhaps it's time you considered—"

The words died unsaid when he saw a ghostly flash of white ahead that crossed his line of sight for a split-second. Sensing his sudden rigidity, Padmè zigzagged the beam of light in a desperate search. "What is it? Did you see him?"

"I don't know. I saw something up ahead just for a second. There must be a junction there and I saw it or him when he crossed it."

They started to jog faster.

"Did it look like a small child?" persisted Padmè.

Anakin shot her a look of bemusement that she couldn't see in the dark. "No. The figure was way too tall. It must have been a man."

"That's not possible. How can there be two people here?"

Anakin figured he deserved that for his reaction to her 'sighting'. "No idea, but I swear it was too big for a youngling, and definitely not a Narzgh."

They reached the junction and fell silent to search. Hurriedly, Padmè swept the flashlight down all three corridors that fed off the junction. "I don't see anybody. Do you?"

"No—wait!" Anakin took a few steps down the first corridor. He didn't have the flashlight but there was _something_. He squinted, trying to make it out. "Padmè, I need the light."

She didn't reply and before he could turn around to find out why, a figure appeared only a few feet in front of him. Anakin reared back, eyes growing wide with shock. "_Obi-Wan_! What—?"

He was dumbfounded. This wasn't the old man he'd killed on the first death star, but his one-time Jedi master, young and yet so wise and unflappable. "Greetings, my friend," Obi-Wan said with a smile and even his voice was a laser bolt into the past. He was dressed in pure white and he seemed to give off a strange glow. Anakin couldn't think why Obi-Wan might be here, but he was aware that down deep inside his heart was singing for joy. A grin formed on his lips and Anakin opened his mouth to return the greeting …

Except he felt a rush of air behind him, right between him and Padmè.

Forgetting Obi-Wan, he spun to find her, only to find his way barred instead. Every drop of blood drained from his head. He slapped his hand against the wall that had appeared out of nowhere, yelling her name, "_Padmè_!"

He recalled his lightsaber, grabbed it off his utility belt and ignited it in one smooth movement. "PADMÈ!" Anakin braced himself, the glowing blue blade poised over his shoulder to plunge and pierce the damnable wall that was keeping him from his wife.

He didn't get to make the thrust. Something latched onto the lightsaber blade with ferocious strength. Twisting around, but not letting go of the hilt, Anakin stared in shock at the sight of a bare hand holding the energy blade as if it were mere plasto. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. The skin and bone should have been cut through the second contact was made. Speechless, Anakin's gaze jerked upwards and encountered a face from his nightmares.

Obi-Wan's eyes appeared to have been gouged out. Fresh blood was still seeping from each dark socket—yet he was still smiling.

"What the kriff are you?" Anakin asked it, trying to tug his weapon free from that unaccountable grasp. He recognised the trap too late and his terror for Padmè knew no bounds. Whatever this thing was it wasn't Obi-Wan—and he'd been right that it wasn't a Narzgh—it was far more intelligent and evil.

"I'm what you made me," was the brief, rasping reply.

The next moment, Anakin found himself airborne for a brief dizzying flight that ended with him crashing into another wall.

TBC

Note (4) – Sorry for leaving you once again with a cliffie. I'm afraid these scene set in the third world are sort of built around them. Helen ducks missiles

HUGS! I hope you enjoyed the chapters. More should be on the screen soon—ish.


	16. Chapter 18

Thank you for the reviews. Signed reviews should have received a reply (please let me know if that isn't the case), and ANON is below:

ANON REPLIES

**mlhkvh5** – Honestly, hun, there is no need to thank me, I've been having a great time writing it and a lot of that is down to the wonderful support I've had from readers such as yourself. Thank you! Hugs.

Note (1) There is a tongue-in-cheek quote from The Exorcist (I think it was the second one) in this chapter.

Note (2) There is some scientific jargon in this that I won't even pretend would make sense to a real scientist. Also, I'm owning up to some inspiration from the TV show Stargate (another old fandom of mine).

Note (3) Out of all the movies I've already referenced as inspiration for the third world, 'Event Horizon' takes the lead in this chapter.

Note (4) We are coming to the final run of this story now. I just thought you might like to know. Thanks to everyone for sticking it out so far.

**Chapter Eighteen**

Padmè beat her fists against the wall that had just _appeared_ out of nowhere and blocked off the corridor that Anakin had taken, yelling, "Anakin! _Anakin_!" Then logic wormed its way through the panic and she went still. Anakin had his lightsaber. All he needed to do was cut through. Of course that meant that she needed to move or risk being impaled. She tucked herself into the far left, trying to quiet her breathing so that she could hear something other than her own panicked pants. With an ear pressed to the cool clammy surface, she strained to catch any sound from the other side. For a moment, she thought she heard a voice, but, she couldn't be sure she hadn't imagined it.

_What was taking him so long?_

When a small, cold hand slipped inside hers, she yelped and flung herself away so hard that she slipped and landed in a half sprawl. With her wildly beating heart in her mouth, Padmè swung the flashlight to illuminate where she'd just been standing, aiming her blaster for good measure.

Standing in the pale beam was the boy. The blaster, held in a trembling hand, was instantly lowered.

Wide-eyed, she took in his appearance. She'd been right about his age, but more shocking than that was that he bore an uncanny resemblance to the precocious child Anakin had been when she first met him. This boy was shorter and his cheeks were rounder, but that was the extent of the difference. She couldn't stop staring and he stared right back.

"Hello," Padmè forced herself to say, failing to still the tremble in her voice. "You startled me."

He cocked his head as if curious about the cadence of her accent. "Hello," he mimicked. There was no fear on his face or in his voice. He looked merely … interested.

"We've been trying to find you." Padmè told him. "We didn't mean to scare you and make you run off."

A part of her wanted him to admit that they'd scared him into running, but the need for company or safety had made him change his mind and seek them out instead—in other words, anything like a normal, childish reaction. This close there was something _off_ about him.

Anakin's certainty returned to haunt her. _Younglings don't come here, or even to the second world. Not little ones anyway. You know that … Tell me how he could possibly have survived … _

The boy made no reply, just continued to stare, unblinking.

_Where's Anakin? He should have been able to get through the wall by now._ Unease cranked up to definite worry, not helped by a kernel of suspicion that she couldn't even bring herself to acknowledge. Feeling oddly vulnerable, Padmè pushed herself up to a crouch, moving slowly so as not to startle the boy. Her mouth was dry and she tried to moisten it before speaking. "Can you tell me your name?"

Rosy lips curled up in a sweet smile. "That's easy. My name is Luke."

"Luke?" repeated Padmè numbly.

As easily as that, she felt pole-axed by a sudden sweeping pain that stole her breath and made her heart lurch sickly in her chest. No! This couldn't be true. How was it possible that a child who looked as if he must be Anakin's son could also share the same name as their son? _Her_ son.

Everything felt wrong. Horribly wrong. _What had she done?_ "Are you sure your name is Luke?"

Another head-cock and those bright blue eyes turned innocently quizzical. "I think so. That's the name I took from your mind."

That last statement didn't sink in fast enough. In the space of a blink, the sweet cherubic face transformed. The eye sockets became black, bottomless pits. Veins mapped no longer smooth skin, and worst of all, the boy-creature cracked open an inhuman jaw to reveal jagged, multi-layered fangs. The hissing growl it emitted made every hair on her body rise.

Padmè brought up the blaster, but she wasn't quick enough. The pistol was ripped out of her grasp before she could let loose a single shot. She felt a burning pain in her scalp as her hair was grabbed and her head yanked back with tremendous strength. Seeing those fangs flash towards her neck, she instinctively blocked. The fangs sank into the flesh of her forearm accompanied by an agonising burn that choked a scream from her throat. The pain was so bad that she didn't notice immediately that the thing biting her had been hauled off.

"Padmè! Get up. _Now_!" a familiar voice barked urgently.

Dazed, she stared at a dishevelled, battered looking Anakin. He grabbed her uninjured arm and yanked her upright and back on her feet. She still had hold of the flashlight. Movement behind Anakin drew her eyes and she saw someone she'd never expected to ever see again—Obi-Wan Kenobi. A grotesquely disfigured Obi-Wan who was stepping calmly through the hole that Anakin had created in the wall.

They didn't wait to see more. Anakin propelled her down the corridor only a short distance before cutting another opening. They went through it together.

And lost their footing together.

Powerless to stop themselves, they went into an uncontrolled slide down a chute-like structure. Anakin's grip on her arm was almost painful in an attempt not to become separated again, but it was nothing to the agony in her other one. The bite felt as if it had been seared with an invasive acid. She could feel Anakin kick out and twist his body in an attempt to halt or slow down their descent, but the chute was coated with a slick substance that made such desperate manoeuvrings for control utterly useless. Keeping a death-grip on the flashlight, Padmè realised they had no choice but to wait and see where they ended up.

It seemed to go on and on. The end came suddenly and without warning. There was a long terrifying second of freefall and then they hit a surface. It was hard enough to wind but not break bones. It was also damp, strangely malleable and coated in that same slick substance as the chute. Also, the stench was indescribable. The landing had been hard enough that Padmè had lost the flashlight. Luckily it hadn't switched off and she crawled over the lumpy, uneven surface to retrieve it. Cradling her injured arm, and trying to ignore the fact that she felt dizzy and her stomach was roiling, she swept it around, taking in Anakin and their surroundings. At first she saw nothing except more walls made of the same organic construction material. The chamber was huge and the flashlight's beam couldn't reach high enough to illuminate a ceiling.

Then she pointed it down to see what it was they'd landed on. It took a moment to believe something so unutterably horrifying, when it did sink in she lost her battle not to vomit.

Bodies. Hundreds upon hundreds of them. Mutilated, gnawed on, and half digested.

Bent double, Padmè gagged on a second wave of nausea, trying to suck in air to steady her whirling head. As if it was somehow connected, the bite on her arm throbbed harder, threatening to crush bones under the waves of pain. Anakin called her name and she ignored him. She blinked, trying to clear her vision. The tactic worked. Not two ft away and almost by her own feet, she saw a face, vaguely female, with a tear sliding down a waxy cheek from a single eye. The right side of the face appeared to have fused into the spine of her nearest neighbour. What remained of her mouth was open in a silent scream. She wasn't the only one.

Some of them were still alive. Maybe all of them.

It was too much—the last straw. Padmè couldn't breathe because of the steel bands around her chest, choking her. A black haze swallowed her mind. Staggering upright, she reeled back.

"Steady." Too late, Anakin's arm came around her middle to support and comfort her. Instead of being comforted, Padmè fought him with rasping sobs and gasped demands to let her go. She slapped at him and kicked at him. She didn't want hands on her. She wanted OUT. A part of her knew she was being hysterical and didn't care. Comfort was impossible. There was no escaping what surrounded you. She had to get out of this place or go completely insane. She didn't notice the pain in her arm or that it was rising to burn along her shoulder.

Anakin refused to let go and pulled her in to a tight, encompassing embrace with her face hidden in his shoulder. With his legs braced, he was able to absorb her frenzied attempts to break free with relative ease. The horror in her mind blocked his gentle croons.

The silent battle raged for several seconds.

Giving in, Padmè went lax, exhausted enough to allow him to support her weight. In the aftermath of the storm, her throat was burning and she was wracked with shudders, a reaction not helped by the icy sweat that coated her body. Wide-palmed hands ran soothingly up and down her spine. She clung to him now, words pouring out of her mouth in a stream of horror. "We're standing on them. They're everywhere. Look at them, they're still moving."

"I know. Shush. Easy now. There's nothing we can do for them. I wish there was but there isn't."

"They're turning the same colour as the walls, did you see. That's what this terrible place is made of—people—and the screaming … they must be still alive … still able to feel."

Anakin's arms tightened still more and his chin rasped the top of her head. "Don't think about it. We can't help them, but we can help ourselves. We need to find a way out."

Padmè heard the quiver in his otherwise steady voice. Only someone who knew him well would be able to detect it. Illogically, it steadied her too. The black panic reluctantly receded, chased away by body heat, strong arms and shame. The shame grew as she thought back over her behaviour. She was shocked at herself. It wasn't like her to panic like that, not for any reason. For an instant, she wondered if the bite was something to do with it. It wasn't a reassuring thought. Shaking that new worry off, she took in one last deep lungful of his scent for extra comfort and then nudged him back, saying huskily, "You're right. I'm sorry. I lost control."

Then she heard a child's giggle.

"Perfectly understandable," said Obi-Wan's voice out of the darkness. "You are, after all, only human."

Anakin's lightsaber ignited with a snap-hiss. Padmè swung the flashlight to find the body the voice belonged to, at the same time taking the blaster that Anakin handed to her. The figure of the man held in the beam of light was back to being whole and unmarred, as was the child standing next to him. The man's hand rested on the boy's blonde head. There was no sign at all of how they'd gotten in.

"You're a persistent one, aren't you? I can't say I admire that about you," said Anakin.

"And you're a feisty one. A mindset I do admire."

"I bet. Alright, I'll ask this again. What are you?" asked Anakin, "and don't tell me I made you. I think I would have remembered something like that."

Obi-Wan smiled. "Ahhh, but it's true in a sense. I picked this form from those contained within your mind. I confess that there were so many to choose from that I was spoiled for choice. However, I knew that you would trust this image and seek to follow—perfect for what I had in mind."

Padmè remembered the boy—she refused to think of him as Luke—saying something similar. It also hit her why the thing masquerading as her son had taken on the appearance of a child-Anakin—she'd only ever seen Luke as a baby. "That doesn't answer the question," she pointed out. "_What_ are you?"

It spread its hands—Obi-Wan's hands. "We don't have a name. We just _are_. We were the first to arrive back when there was merely nothingness. We filled it, built it, and fed it." It looked at Padmè. "There is no escape no matter how sweet the soul. Death just makes tenure here permanent, endless and pitiless." His head swivelled to take in Anakin, "You don't have what it takes to leave either, not anymore."

"We'll see about that. You said we?" queried Anakin, hefting his lightsaber higher, illuminating the nightmare surrounding them, under them. "How many of you are there?"

The smile widened. "We are legion."

As if on cue, more figures began emerging. The boy clapped his hands in glee. It was nothing like the Narzgh's frenzied attempts to break through. The skin of the chamber walls seemed to just stretch and stretch until it looked at breaking point—then features would fluidly emerge: head, shoulders and body, and, with a single step, become separated from the unmarred wall.

Padmè didn't wait, she began firing. She'd had enough. She'd had _more_ than enough. If there was point where you could feel no more fear or horror, then she'd reached it. Fury filled her veins now. The bolts seemed to just pass through the entities and hit the walls. Like a switch had been flipped, the screaming started again, deafening them. The chamber shuddered as more bolts hit the walls. Underneath their feet, the piles of bodies heaved as if in protest. Padmè staggered as her balance failed under the shifting mass. Anakin caught her hand and dragged her over to the far wall, shouting an instruction for her to concentrate her fire on the chamber itself. He began attacking the walls with his lightsaber, creating huge slashes and causing gaping bloody gashes to appear. Without warning, a viscous fluid began to rise from underneath them, surging up between the bodies.

Padmè was too busy to wonder why.

With the chamber under attack, the shrieking got higher and louder. The entire area started to shake and quake with increasingly powerful judders. The creatures lunged at them, their faces transformed into living nightmares, but were hampered by the rising fluid that had risen impossibly swiftly to waist height. Anakin braced himself with his lightsaber held in a defensive stance. Padmè kept the trigger held down and red bolts flew across the chamber in a horizontal shower.

Then, with a sucking sound loud enough to rise over the screams, the 'surface' beneath them gave way entirely. A massive whirlpool formed and Anakin and Padmè were sucked under as if they'd stepped into a violent slipstream.

o~o~o

It wasn't the palace audience chamber, but the small, enclosed prayer room in the old temple held enough left-over grace to sooth some of the frayed nerves of its current occupants. There were no windows, but sunlight was caught and spread by a domed skylight over their heads. Carved wooden benches snugly encircled the room, covered in cushions that had been hand-stitched long enough ago to have faded with time. Tenku, who had managed the temple refuge before her sudden disappearance two weeks earlier, had had the sense to leave this room alone as a place of quiet reflection. It wasn't quiet now though. Every inch was crammed with people of various races who were neither dignitaries nor those in authority. If nothing else, this crisis had brought a kind of terrible equality to Junga Roth. With Jesters' bulk on one side of her and Jazz on the other, Obonè gazed consideringly at the man standing in the middle of the room.

Obi-Wan Kenobi stood with his hands folded in front of his robes and cloaked in an air of utter calmness. He appeared completely unfazed at being the centre of so much curiosity, and suspicion.

"Mr Kenobi—"

"Please, call me Obi-Wan, or Ben. I'll happily answer to both." The request was accompanied by a charming smile and a respectful bow.

Obonè inclined her head in agreement and then got to the point. "I've heard the name Obi-Wan Kenobi before, on two separate occasions in point of fact."

"Indeed, and may I take it from your tone that neither were particularly complimentary references?" asked Obi-Wan ruefully.

"Padmè Amidala mentioned such a man, a Jedi who defeated Darth Vader in a duel," answered Obonè, bluntly. "The second reference was made by Petris Lyonides during the trial of Anakin Skywalker for atrocities committed _as_ Darth Vader. Both the timing of the first, and detail supplied by Lyonides, suggests that Obi-Wan Kenobi is a white-haired old man." She quirked a brow. "You Jedi do seem to age remarkably well. You look no older than early thirties."

The smile made a return. "Why thank you. I'll take _that_ as a compliment. However, to answer your question, I can tell you that Padmè was telling you the truth and Lyonides was lying." Unprompted, he went on to say, "Padmè is an old friend, while I have never had any contact with the Premier of your fine city."

"It ain't so fine now," Jazz pointed out. She leaned forward with her elbows on her leather-covered knees. Her military style boots were planted apart, emphasising her don't-give-a-poodoo attitude. "If you've never met Lyonides, how did he know about you?" Suspicion was ripe in her tone, hardly a surprise to anyone who knew her.

"Sadly, that's all too easy to explain," replied Obi-Wan. True to his word, sadness entered his eyes. "Tenku was a friend of mine." There were mutters at the name. Many people had known Tenku and all were concerned over her inexplicable disappearance. Obi-Wan addressed them all, "It was this friendship that brought her to the attention of Sidious and Lyonides. Suspicious of his visit here so soon after arriving, they arranged for her secret arrest and then tortured information out of her regarding myself and Anakin."

"Tenku's gone?" a young girl asked shakily.

"I'm afraid so, yes," was the gentle reply. "But, I'm sure it'll console you to know that she's gone to a better place."

"If you're a Jedi, what are you doing here?" piped up another voice. "Jedi don't come to the second world. It's either the first or the third world for you force-wielders—there's no middle ground." It was Gar Ha'lar, a Bothan with a known aversion to humans. He was glaring at Kenobi with his equine ears flattened to his furry head.

"I think you have us semi-confused with the Sith," countered Kenobi with another bow to take out any sting. "And you're forgetting the exception that is Anakin Skywalker. However, I do take your point. Think of me as merely visiting on a temporary basis."

"So, you _are_ from the first world?" said Obonè.

"I am, yes."

"Are you here to help us?" someone called out hopefully. Once more mutters raced around the encircling listeners.

Here Kenobi hesitated, then spoke with each word carefully chosen, "I'm here to assist you as far as I can. Unfortunately, I can only act indirectly—" He grimaced "—there are circumstances that make anything more … well, let's just say it could have serious consequences."

"And what kind of _indirect_ assistance did you have in mind?" asked Jester in his customary slow drawl.

"Information initially. As you will be aware by now, the barrier has been altered so that it now filters out the sun, keeping the Narzgh safe and allowing them—with assistance from an increasingly powerful Sidious—to remain in the second world." Here, Kenobi spread his hands. "Of course, what has been altered may be unaltered."

There was a stunned silence. Obonè broke it, "You expect us to find a way to break into the Core, somehow sneak past all of the Narzgh without being detected and then attempt to revert the barrier back to its original function?"

"Actually, no," replied Kenobi apologetically. "I'm suggesting that you find a way to break into the Core, and then rescue the man who gave Lyonides the technical expertise to change the barrier in the first place. He will know what to do to fix things."

"Are you _crazy_?"

Kenobi smiled, "I'm not generally thought to be so, no. Reckless plans such as what I've just outlined were more usually Anakin's forte." He turned sombre. "I urge you to consider very carefully the advantage of having every Narzgh currently in Roth die a sudden and fiery death. For my part, I can see it as being the turning point between saving the city and leaving it to rot. The decision is yours."

o~o~o

The office has once belonged to the Finance Minister Bac Gon. Sidious had chosen it because of the décor—black and red with a distinctly modern flavour and no frills or sops to sentimentality. It was hardly a surprise. There were few races, he had found, that were less sentimental than the Munns whose single deity was currency. Black marble tiles were impregnated with miniscule iridescent lights that actually anticipated an occupant's next step. The bold red walls were set off by unadorned windows and a glossy black operations console complete with a matched hoverchair. The chair itself was so technology enriched that was reminiscent of his throne as galactic emperor.

Sidious felt right at home. Besides, it wasn't as if he'd evicted the previous occupant. He'd been so impressed with the décor and ambience that he'd honoured the Munn by adding him to it. He made a marvellous still-life that livened up the left wall. Evisceration had bleached the grey-skinned Munn even further, a wonderful contrast to the gaping purple-hued of his sagging mouth.

Still, artwork aside…

Darth Sidious was being forced to a very inconvenient conclusion. Too much of the dark side of the Force could actually _hamper_ his ability to foresee the future.

The benefit of course was that for the second time in his existence, he was about to accomplish something that no other Dark Lord of the Sith had managed—the first being the annihilation of the Jedi Order, and now, to return from the netherworlds in a substantial form. After such a feat, he mused, no one would dare question his power and he would rule supreme. It _was_ worrying to have his vision so limited Sidious went on to admit to himself, but the trade off was acceptable. It wasn't all bad news either, on the contrary. In every other respect he could feel his power rising hourly. Everything was going to plan and, with Skywalker out of the way, he felt assured of it remaining so. In fact, given that he expected his plans to come to fruition within the next few days, it was time to tie up some loose ends. Sidious had promises to keep.

His current 'guest' was a reminder of one such promise. Tapping his claws thoughtfully together, Sidious gazed pensively over the expanse of his desk at the monstrosity gracing his office with its presence. A demanding presence that expected the deal it had made to be honoured. Ideally, Sidious would tap into the Force and check that the timing was right to fulfil the promise—a promise that was the cause of great anticipation and yet, contrarily, also great vexation—but that wasn't an option. Still, a decision had to be made.

Making it, he leant over and activated his holotransmission grid. After several moments, Lyonides appeared on bended knee. "My lord, what is your command?"

"I require your presence in my office, Premier. Do not delay." It seemed prudent to suggest a reason for such an order and Sidious was amused that he didn't even have to lie. "A situation has arisen that needs both of our attention."

Finished with that small task, he turned his attention back to his guest, bestowing a smile that had once fooled millions into believing it was benevolent rather malevolent. "Patience, my friend. You will have your reunion very, very soon."

It would also be an auspicious time to complete stage one, Sidious decided. Excitement unfurled in his gut.

o~o~o

Anakin had been clutching at straws when he'd started attacking the chamber walls. If lightsabers had no effect on those _things_, he hadn't held out much hope for a blaster. What had given him a sliver of hope had been the instant reaction of the chamber to being damaged. Even so, he hadn't expected to be flushed.

His lungs were burning like twin fires by the time the crashing, crushing, dragging whirl was over and he broke the surface. The first lungful of air was scarcely less painful. Starved of air long enough, the human body shuts down all thought in favour of instinct. With his mouth wide open, Anakin's chest heaved as his lungs clawed in oxygen. It felt as if the air was too thin and he simply couldn't get enough of it to survive. Choking and flailing, his body tried again and again, until at last, reason returned. That was when he finally noted the red sky above him and that he could stand up, or could have done if his legs had been strong enough to support him.

His next thought was of Padmè. The pressure and number of bodies had made it impossible not to become separated. Desperation gave him the strength to wade through the nightmare flotsam of co-joined corpses. He eventually found her clinging on to the edge of the trench. She was pale and shaking, but breathing. The sheer strength of his relief drained him to the point of collapse. Too exhausted and battered to lower himself gracefully, he managed to fall next to her and saw her eyelids flutter and then open.

"Anakin," she croaked, and that was as much as she managed.

He opened his mouth to speak, but could only form a groan, then he too passed out.

When he came too again, he was shivering, his skin felt raw and he had no idea if hours or minutes had passed. Above him, the sky was darkening to an even murkier red. Next to him, Padmè remained unconscious.

They were still lying half draped over the edge of a rough rock trench. A few meters to their right, he saw the huge boundary wall that he now knew mimicked that of Junga Roth. They'd been expelled to the edge of the city and just beyond. A glance over his shoulder showed that the trench had all but drained, leaving behind a litter of horror. For the sake of his sanity, Anakin didn't dwell too long on the bodies. At least they were now spared being _digested_ into the fabric of Roth's evil twin.

Which reminded him that they couldn't stay here. They were still far too close to the city.

Gently, he tried to shake Padmè awake.

Under his hand her arm was rigid and he could feel the chill of her skin even through the tattered remains of her clothes. Horror sent a shock-wave through him.

She was so pale that her skin appeared translucent and the dark smudges under her eyes were stark in comparison. When he felt for the pulse in her neck, Anakin swore that his own heart stopped until he finally found the thin, thready pulse. He wanted to move her, but he didn't dare until he knew what was wrong. She could have hit her head or hurt her body at any point during their turbulent exit from the chamber. Nightmare images of spinal injuries and internal fractures circled feverishly through his brain. It was remarkably easy to forget how fragile the human body really was without technology to protect it.

How was he to know what was wrong? What was he to do? She needed a healer or a medical tech, and all she had was him. "Padmè! Padmè! Wake up! Please, wake up. Force! Don't do this to me. C'mon, Padmè!" He tried to rouse her with his voice while he ran his hands over her from the shoulders down, and then down her legs. Her utility belt was similar to the one he usually wore and got in the way, so he carefully removed it. He found nothing until he repeated the clumsy exam, this time going from her feet and back up to her shoulders. When his hand skimmed up her left forearm, Padmè gave out a deep, pained moan and her eyelids flickered.

The stained shimmersilk of her sleeve ripped easily apart. What he found had him swearing. The whole forearm was swollen and bruised, so much so that it was difficult at first to spot the bite mark. The bite had broken the skin in multiple places within the raw, circular wound. Worse, it was seeping a watery, mud-coloured substance that he'd never seen before.

"Kriff! What in Chaos—"

"Anakin" she murmured.

She sounded so weak that his throat closed as if someone was choking him. Her hand was like ice cradled in his. "I'm here, my love. You're fine. We're both fine. We got out."

She smiled weakly. "I know. Good trick."

It took a moment to connect her meaning. "It was just a guess."

"A lucky one," she muttered and her eyes started to drift shut again.

"Don't close your eyes. Padmè, look at me." Panicking, Anakin squeezed her hand and wormed his arm under her shoulders. Her head lolled back and her eyes were mere slits. Her breath rattled in her chest and scared him so much that he started shake.

A horrifying feeling of Déjà vu swept over him and for a moment he was nineteen again and watching his beloved mother die while he was helpless to do anything. Pain drilled into every nerve, ripping into his soul. He was still powerless, helpless, and useless.

"NO! Padmè. No!" His hoarse denial was more like a moaned prayer. "Don't leave me."

"Can't help … Tired."

_Death just makes tenure here permanent, endless and pitiless._

No. no. no. no. He had to get her back to the second world. He had to save her.

Tears slid down Anakin's face unnoticed. His fingers danced over the elegant arch of her brows, down the side of her cheek by her ear. "You can sleep later, I promise. That thing's bite must have venom in it. We have to get out so I can find an antidote."

A single tear shimmered on a dark lash and then dropped. "Can't …You get out."

And leave her. An angel in hell.

"NO!" This time it was a roar. Fury swamped him and with nothing to aim it at, it blasted through his system without check or outlet. He welcomed it. Surging to his feet, Anakin snatched up the discarded utility belt and tied it around his own waist, then bent down and scooped Padmè up in his arms. "I'm not leaving you so don't even _say_ it. We're getting out and I don't care how I do it."

She felt horribly delicate in his arms and that only infuriated him further. He loved her. Just like he'd loved his mother, Obi-Wan, and his unborn children, and then lost them all, but not this time. Not like this. He wasn't consigning her to hell, or letting her do it. He'd damn himself again first.

In a way, the barren landscape suited his mood. It wasn't flat. There were hills, crags, gorges and canyons that lay like mouldering, skeletal remains on the surface of this bleak, stagnant world. For a while Anakin followed the trench and breathed in the stench of decay, letting it revolt him. Just like the endless sharp rocks underfoot, Anakin refused to soften. Among other things, his years as Vader had made him an expert at nourishing rage and making it blacker. When Padmè began drift out of consciousness, he shook her awake, and when even that started to fail, he told her the things that he'd so recently dreaded her ever finding out. The worse, the better he decided grimly. Ironically, even Sidious hadn't known it all, but Padmè soon would. He didn't care if she hated him afterwards, not if it stopped her fading away now.

Who knew better than he that anger and hatred could help you hold on to even the most tenuous thread of life?

He walked, carrying Padmè and going into detail of his torture of the young senator Leia Organa, of how he'd done everything in his power to break her. Ruthlessly clamping down on his wife's struggles, he went onto his pursuit of Luke and the methods he'd employed—of friends killed and duelling Luke and taking his hand. Then there was another encounter with Leia when he'd slashed her repeatedly with his lightsaber to punish Luke. He told her without apology or repentance. He told it as Vader. There was more, so much more, and it all slipped out like poison until Anakin's voice was little more than a croak—things that no mother could forgive a stranger doing to her children, never mind their father.

At least Padmè lived. It started to rain, a driving deluge that stung the skin, and that too was ignored except for the anger it could cause for the aggravation. At least it washed away the stink and rot of the dead.

The nameless monster wearing Obi-Wan's face had told him that there was no escape from the third world, that he didn't have what it took, not anymore. Anakin knew better.

Luke may have persuaded him to let go of his hatred of others, but his trial under Lyonides had shown him that there was one that still festered—self-hatred. Maul had spotted it over a decade ago.

_What can you hate enough to destroy me?_

_Myself!_

Anakin figured that it was more than enough to rip through the veils between worlds.

The ground was rising steadily now. The gorge had given way to a series of canyons. Anakin headed for the highest point while rainwater rushed in the valley between and formed a river, a blood-red river given the red sky above. At one point, a rocky ledge overhung the rushing water by at least a dozen meters. Here, Anakin stopped and stepped to the very edge of the ledge. In his arms, a waxy-pale Padmè was breathing shallowly. He stepped off the edge.

o~o~o

Blood got everywhere Sidious had found during his own experiments in pain and revenge. It was amazing how much a human being carried around in their veins. Lyonides had been no exception. He'd also owned a loud pair of lungs. Had being the operative word. The thing that had once been Silas Lyonides now squatted amongst the remains of his son. As Sidious had told both father and son, he _always_ kept his promises; Petris now had a simpler life—or afterlife as the case may be—and Silas had been allowed to consume it.

That no longer concerned the dark lord of the Sith. He had a vortex to control. The turbulent, spinning flow of dark energies was literally being shaped by his will. In moments it filled half of the room. Closing his eyes and lifted his ruined face to the ceiling, Sidious plumbed the depths of his black soul for power, siphoning more from every corner of the Core, soaked as it was in terror and agony. The power rippled in his bones and crackled over his skin. It took enormous effort to rein it in and control it. At the peak of that quest for power, and just when Sidious was sure he could not longer contain it, the wormhole engaged with an enormously destructive backwash.

The palace itself trembled for several moments after the wormhole stabilised. Undaunted, Sidious approached the languidly rippling surface and reached out a hand to touch the fluid mercury-like surface. It was icy to the touch.

"First contact," he rasped, "and really quite beautiful, but not, I suspect, as beautiful as the one that will come after—the one that will take me back, body and soul."

o~o~o

"Are you _sure_ this is the right one? In case you didn't notice, this isn't the only river valley in the area."

"Hey!" Lorne was insulted, not helped by nerves. "This is my best guess. I saw high, rocky slopes, not too many trees and that weird rock formation shaped like a you-know-what. Visions don't come with a digital map and big fat 'X', y'know?"

"Alright. Alright. Don't bite my head off." Having snarled back for forms sake, Sal confessed, "I didn't like the look of those refugees we passed over a few times, and I feel like a sitting duck just hovering here."

"If we land—assuming we can find a clearing big enough to land—those refugees will probably swarm on board and kill us all. I'm getting _big_ hungry vibes of them. They see this rust-bucket of yours as salvation."

"They ain't taking my ship," growled Sal. He maintained a dignified silence on the subject of her being a rust-bucket.

In the co-pilots seat, Lorne rolled his eyes. "So don't land and all they can do is drool from a distance."

"They could take pot shots at her if they've got blaster rifles."

"They're not going to shoot down a ship they want to fly off in themselves. That would come under the heading 'cutting off your nose to spite your face'."

"They could take pot shots at Freyrr. She's sort of exposed down there."

"What kind of an idiot is going to take pot shots at a Wookiee?"

"Okay," conceded Sal, "Good point."

There was perhaps a minute of blessed silence, then, "Aren't we a bit early in the day? It's still evening with at least an hour left before sundown. The Narzgh don't start popping out until way after dark."

"Possibly to avoid being fried and blowing away in a puff of charred ash," shot back Lorne. "You might'a noticed that our fave couple don't go flame-grilled in direct sunlight. They don't need to wait until nightfall."

Another minute ticked by.

"So, you're absolutely sure this is the right spot?"

"_Yes!_"

Before the argument could begin again, they both saw something that jerked them back to the cockpit viewscreen.

"Whoa! What was that?"

Lurching forward, Sal slapped a hand on the comms console. "Freyrr, did you see that, over?"

The cockpit comms speakers seemed to erupt with one loud, long roar in the affirmative.

Forgetting himself, Sal practically put his nose to the screen. "It's them. Damn! It's gotta be them. I know it."

Lorne agreed. "I'll be down with Freyrr. I'll guide you to them over the link."

He'd never moved so fast in his life as he did to get down to the lower hold and the same engineering access hatch that Padmè had once used as a base for Narzgh target practice. Now Freyrr was there, ready to use her enormously long and powerful arms to scoop up Anakin and Padmè if they showed up as per Lorne's vision.

She was already pretty voluble and pointing at some spot in the distance when Lorne got down on his knees and climbed out with her. He considered it a squeeze for a good cause.

The Limidian moved, skimming so close to the river that both Lorne and Freyrr were in danger of getting soaked. Neither noticed nor cared.

What Lorne saw had both of his hearts skipping and broke a huge grin over his mouth. Two heads bobbing in the water, one dark and one dark blonde. He brought the comm-link up to speak. "Well, Hallelujah, boys and girls. I see them." However, the closer the ship got though, the smaller was Lorne's grin. "Sal, it looks like their day trip to Demonsrus wasn't all sun, sea and frolics. You'd better tell the Doc and have him do the final prep for that bacta tank of his."

o~o~o

Night had fallen in Junga Roth and, as suggested by the Jedi Kenobi, the Narzgh were too busy with the millions already trapped within the Core to worry about chasing the few who'd remained behind in the Outer Rim. It seems they were safe enough for now. Even so, the survivors and injured had been moved to Jester's maze of underground warehouses and illegal nightclubs. It was a strictly modern and utilitarian set-up. Security was tight, the energy supply was independent to the rest of the city, entrances were concealed and all parts of the complex were interconnected by well-maintained tunnels. In fact, the complex bore a closer resemblance to a starship than an underground hub of illegal commerce belonging to a crime lord. The Besalisk was nothing if not paranoid, efficient and organised.

Scrubbed, re-robed and with a fresh turban on her head, Obonè cornered Kenobi in the tunnel leading between the new makeshift armoury and Jester's centre of operations. Falling into step beside him, she got straight to the point.

"What didn't you tell us back in the temple?"

He didn't appear surprised at her sudden appearance at his side, or her question. Amusement glowed in blue grey eyes when he said, "Probably quite a bit given my age and occasionally colourful history. Did you have something specific in mind."

"As a matter of fact I do. A number of things, actually. First, there's your connection with Padmè Amidala and Anakin Skywalker, it confuses me." She shot him a piercing looking, trying to see past the calm exterior to the man underneath. "You say that Padmè is an old friend of yours, and yet you were the one who almost killed her husband. How does that work?"

His expression didn't betray any emotion, but his pace did slow. "Anakin and I were Jedi together. In fact, he was my padawan learner, a Jedi version of an apprentice. I knew and cared for them both. My duel with Vader after Anakin turned broke me almost as much as it broke him." Now it was his turn to bestow a sharp, knowing glance. "You don't have to worry about me being a potential threat to either of them … should they make it back."

"Do you think they'll make it back?" Just an hour before she hadn't dared hope, but now hope was rearing up and refusing to be denied. It was almost as painful as no hope at all. Obonè held her breath waiting for an answer.

Kenobi sighed, shaking his head. "I wish I could give you a definite answer, but I can't. Seeing into the future is a dicey business at the best of times and impossible in the third world."

"Then give me your opinion."

"I can't. That would be irresponsible of me—I"

"Please!"

Obonè halted, forcing him to stop too out of politeness. She didn't try and hide the plea in her eyes. As a politician, she knew full well that vulnerability could be a valuable tool.

His second sigh was heavier and gustier. "I can't make you any promises, but I know Anakin. He has an aversion to failing, no matter how the odds are stacked against him. In the past, that aversion—or stubbornness, if you will—has got him out of almost as much trouble as it's got him into bother in the first place. I'm hopeful, and that's all I will say."

"Alright." Obonè nodded. "It's better than nothing."

They got moving again to avoid causing a log-jam. The tunnels had not been built with chit-chat in mind.

"You have another question. I can feel it. You may as well get it off your chest." Having issued the rueful invitation, Kenobi added a disclaimer, "I can't promise to answer, though."

They were nearing the control room and the corridor was getting even busier with more and more people passing them. Luckily, the tunnel widened to allow for a greater flow of foot-traffic. Obonè slowed to a crawl and lowered her voice. "I've known Lyonides for years, so I know his objectives and ambitions, but this Sidious is a complete stranger to me—what's his plan? What does he want? Why is he doing what he's doing?"

"He wants to return to the plane of the living and he will stop at nothing to achieve that aim."

"But that's impossible. Everyone knows that. Dead is dead."

"Normally I would agree with you, but Darth Sidious is not a normal Sith, or even a normal Narzgh. He has managed to exceed even the very _worst_ expectations anyone has ever had of him. He has a plan, and it might just work."

"Do you know what that plan is?"

"I do, and it's close to being accomplished." Kenobi stopped again, this time forcing Obonè to follow suit. "Let me explain something to you. Horror, terror, pain and suffering are all powerful conductors of dark side energies. The more suffering there is and the more prolonged it lasts, the stronger is the surge of the dark side of the Force. Sidious has brought about an unprecedented surge of those energies to make himself powerful on a scale that you cannot possibly imagine. At its peak he will create a vortex that he will use to open a wormhole. That wormhole will, with a little help from some dark acolytes in the living universe, create a bridge that is traversable by a physical body. The process is already begun."

Feeling sick to her stomach, Obonè mulled it over, trying to understand. "He's basically going to try and turn the process of death on its head."

"Exactly."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"You shouldn't. If it's not closed properly eventually the wormhole could expand and erase all barriers, with consequences that frankly don't bear thinking about. I firmly believe that even Sidious before he died would have balked at the risk, but he's also a Narzgh now, and it is the nature of that beast to want to bring all beings down to their level."

Inside Obonè the nausea turned to ice. "You're telling me that if he pulls it off, the third world will expand?"

"I'm telling you that it could become the sum total of all existence, living or dead, and releasing horrors that were never meant to be released."

It was an effort but Obonè managed to work up enough spit to moisten her mouth and speak, "Why didn't you mention any of this in the meeting?"

"You weren't ready. You were all still in shock, not in the least organised and resistant to even the idea of finding a way into the Core. Now that you _are_ getting organised, it's time that you know the stakes. I suggest you use your influence to make sure that a team is assembled. In my opinion, Zarc Wess will be crucial to any attempt to thwart Sidious."

TBC


	17. Chapter 19

**Thank you so much to everyone who has kept up with this story and posted a review. It really does mean so much to know that people are enjoying the chapters and want more. As usual all signed in replies should have received a reply. Helen X**

Anon replies are below:

Maggie – Thank you so much. I'm tickled pink that Purgatory is your first star wars fanfic and that it has caught your imagination. I hope the last few chapters continue to entertain and intrigue you.

Note (1) – Savuud Thimram and Byss are both courtesy of Wookieepedia

Note (2) - Doc is heavily inspired by BSG's excellent Doc Cottle.

Note (3) – There is a tiny reference to a planet called Tythe that I've taken from the novel 'Labyrinth of Evil' by James Luceno.

**Chapter Nineteen**

The emperor had begun construction on the Imperial Citadel directly after the end of the Clone Wars. The black and red tower rose from the sprawling morass of Throne City on the deep-core planet of Byss. It was here that he had performed so many of his dark side experiments, both on the unfortunate populace, as well as creatures created in breeding centres buried deep in the bowels of the sub-levels. Once his throne room and military command centre were in place, Emperor Palpatine had Sith alchemical laboratories built, sitting alongside libraries filled with Jedi and Sith artefacts, tomes and holocrons.

In essence, the citadel was a humming, efficient temple to the dark side of the Force. All that was missing thought Savuud Thimram was the emperor himself. It had been almost four months since the report of Palpatine's demise at Endor. Sate Pestage had taken over the suddenly floundering galactic empire, but his abilities were sadly lacking. Walking swiftly towards the Throne Room, Thimram shook his head at the acknowledgement, very sadly lacking.

It was such a pity that the emperor's cloning facilities had not been able to bear fruit before his death. Once again Thrimram shook his heavy, head-dressed head. All that effort wasted, he sighed to himself. A human of short stature and with wizened features, he was unprepossessing figure, an unfortunate state of affairs that he attempted to rectify by wearing elaborate floor-length robes and headgear.

The gleaming red doors to the throne room swished apart. Inside, all was exactly as the emperor had last left it. Nothing in the cavernous, circular and domed room had been dismantled. Not surprisingly, the spineless Pestage had not had the courage to take on the numerous Dark Side Adepts that lived and worked on Byss. Thimram was just such an Adept and something inexorable was compelling him to leave his bed and his comfortable quarters and come here—to a dead emperor's seat of power.

Glossy metallic black stairs rose from the antechamber to another level. At the top, the throne drew the eye, but to reach it you had to walk down a long processional aisle that made any visitor feel as if they were crawling towards the emperor seated at its pinnacle. In addition to the mammoth black throne, a display screen of truly epic proportions dominated the room.

Tonight, Thimram had eyes only for the throne, though, and the cloaked figure it contained. He was afraid that if he blinked the figure would disappear, like a mirage or a dream. The closer he got, the less solid the shrouded man seemed, and yet Thrimram could feel the pure and utter darkness surrounding him—he could almost _taste_ the malevolence of his emperor. It was enough. Dark satisfaction filled him.

"Master!" he breathed and scurried forward to kneel at the base. "You have returned to us."

"Not quite," rasped the familiar voice, piercing Thrimram with disappointment. "I am a mere shade, an insubstantial spirit that is still bound to another place, however with your help that will soon change. I have called you here as my most capable Adept. I hope my trust in you is not misplaced, Thimram?"

He bowed lower, to the point that the box-like frame of his headdress threatened to fall off his head. "The emperor must know that I am always at his command. What is it that I must do to assist your return, my Master?"

"There is a holocron in my personal library. I will give you the code that will unlock the container holding it. This holocron contains instructions on how to create a vortex of a particular kind. It requires a sacrifice—a human sacrifice in this case. This step is crucial. Pick someone and begin immediately. Once the vortex is sufficiently stable, I will be able to create a bridge between the living and the dead, allowing me to return to you and all of my loyal subjects."

Thimram felt no qualms about murder, just curiosity about what he was being asked to participate in. Truthfully, he said, "I will begin immediately, my master."

"See that you do. Time is of the essence."

o~o~o

He had no secrets left.

She knew it all. Anakin didn't feel cleansed. He felt empty and utterly divorced from everything around him. A vacuum. He should have been agonising over how easy it had been to let the rage wipe out his terror and anguish, energising him to do what he had to do to achieve his objective, but he didn't—couldn't—regret the choice. They'd needed to get out of the third world, and only Vader could help him achieve that. It didn't matter if Padmè hated him now, he told himself, ruthlessly ignoring the instant lance of pain. At least she was safe. Still, it had been a dangerous thing to do, especially for him; perhaps more so because it had worked.

He was prepared to bet that Sidious hadn't counted on either of them making it out again. Inside him, the vacuum of his emotions was rent by a spark that flared to a flame of anger.

At the same time fingers snapped in front of his face. "Hey! You zoning out on me?"

Called back to the present, Anakin blinked and heard Sal drawl, "He does that a lot. You get used to it."

With an effort, Anakin locked onto grey eyes almost hidden behind bushy, white eyebrows. "You were saying?"

"I was _saying_ that I don't know what in Chaos you two did to get out of there, but it played hell on your bodies … literally." The gravelly, no-nonsense voice of the human doctor continued. "You had second degree burns all over your body. I haven't seen blisters like that since the cataclysm of Tythe back in the old days—"

"That's what you get for breaking through a veil between worlds. I'm fine now," interrupted Anakin. He bent down to tug on his boots so he wouldn't have to look anyone else in the eye.

He had on fresh clothing, courtesy of Sal, with the difference in height made up by the difference in girth. Padmè's utility belt cinched in what his extra four inches in height didn't. The crew quarters of the Limidian had been turned into a makeshift med-centre complete with a pair of ancient-looking bacta tanks. The tanks belonged to the white-haired, white-coated and crotchety old man called simply, 'Doc'. Space was at a premium and Sal and Lorne were waiting by the door. He could feel them looking at him. Worse, he could feel their worry like aggravating pinpricks on his skin. That concern made everything so much worse, because reassurance was beyond him. He did not want to discuss the third world, what they'd found there or how they'd gotten out. He didn't want to even _think_ about it.

"Yeah, well, a few hours in my bacta composite seem to have done what weeks would for anyone else," conceded Doc with a perplexed, irritable frown. He crossed his arms over his white coat and settled a gimlet-eyed stare on Anakin. "In fact, I wouldn't mind knowing the secret so I can do the same for the girl and maybe get the hell out of here faster."

The girl.

Anakin's gaze was instantly drawn to the still active bacta tank. Padmè floated inside it with a breathing mask connecting her to an oxygen tank and other tubes and catheters attached to her body. The monitor on the tank beeped and flashed and the hiss of oxygen made an audible counterpoint. His heart squeezed at the sight of her. She still looked so pale and her dark hair was an ethereal cloud floating around her delicate face. _He loved her do much. How could he have not done everything to save her?_ His eyes and throat burned. "You're sure she's going to be okay?"

He was tense enough to snap while he waited for the answer—even though he'd asked it a dozen times already since coming back to consciousness.

"I isolated the venom or whatever the heck it was and found it was already breaking down." Doc shrugged. "Other than that I didn't have to do a damned thing. I don't understand it myself." He didn't quail under Anakin's pointed stare, but he did continue, "My best guess is that its ability to kill is tied into a victim being physically present in that hell-hole. All that's left now is repairing the damage that was done while it was active. Another day or so and she'll be as good as new."

Anakin relaxed a fraction. He offered a short, decisive nod. "I owe you a great deal. I won't forget it."

Unimpressed, Doc jerked a thumb towards the two lurking in the doorway, "Don't thank me. Thank your friends. If they'd given me a choice I'd still be enjoying my homebrew and pirate holos in peace and privacy." Under snowy white hair, his scowl deepened. "For the record, I don't do rescues and house calls."

Prompted in such a way, Anakin finally had to look at his friends. Sal jerked a shoulder. "We found him after Lorne read me. We didn't have a clue why, but he insisted we had to pick this guy up first."

"And hasn't it been fun," interjected Lorne with a speaking glance and a tone that was as dry as dust. "Doc here, despite his undeniably healing touch, has the personality of a chronically constipated rhino. Believe me when I tell you that he makes Sal seem the essence of serenity in comparison."

"Hence me taking myself off from idiot people and finding a nice place to play hermit in," snapped back Doc, throwing a filthy look at the pilot and Pylean. "Not to mention—if you're going to hijack a man you should be prepared for him to be feeling pissy about it."

"Yeah. But, there's pissy and then there's pissy," gibbed Sal, but he didn't get to finish.

"Out" said Doc loudly and baldly, overriding him. "Visiting time's over."

Sal only needed to take three steps into the room to go nose-to-nose with the old man. "Hey!" He stabbed his own chest with an irate thumb. "My ship, remember. Nobody orders me around on my own ship."

"I do when I have a patient and work to do. Get over it," said Doc witheringly, and included Anakin when he repeated, "Go on, all of you scat. This dump isn't big enough to swing a romp rat in. I need space. Out."

Sal looked ready to explode. Anakin stood before the other man could reach critical mass. "We'll be in the crew rec room. I expect to be kept informed of Padmè's condition. I want to know the moment there's any change."

Having issued his own orders and after receiving a reluctant nod of acknowledgement, Anakin strode out, knowing the other two would follow. He waited until they were inside what passed as the recreation room on the Limidian to speak. "I know you both have questions, but they're going to have to wait."

His tone was cold and abrupt, a direct contrast to the anger burning stronger by the second in his chest, but he simply wasn't capable of injecting any warmth into it. He could still smell the stench of corpses on his skin—his insides felt slicked with it.

He stopped at the battered holochess table and crossed his arms. "From the moment I got back here, I've felt things in the Force that I've never felt before." He couldn't possibly explain to them the dark void he could _feel_ ravaging Roth, draining it of life far more surely than any Narzgh ever could, so he didn't even try, preferring to keep it simple. "Something truly monstrous is happening in Roth. Even as Vader, I've never known the dark side to be so strong and encompassing." He saw Sal flinch at the mention of his past persona and ignored it. "I've tried, but I can't pierce it and I don't have the time to meditate in the hope of peeling it away enough for a glimpse." His gaze shifted to the Pylean. "I need you to read me."

He didn't say he needed to find out _who_ was causing it—he already knew—Sidious was behind all of this. The presence of his old master was no longer hidden, but pulsing like a malevolent beacon. It was _he_ who had arranged for Padmè to be abducted into the third world, knowing full well that Anakin would go after her. Lyonides had been a mere puppet with Sidious pulling the strings. Hidden by his crossed arms, Anakin's fingers curled into fists.

Red eyes widened. "What _now_?"

"Yes. Now." Anakin started to pace. "It may already be too late, I don't know. But I do know that there's no time to waste. Sidious has master-minded everything from the beginning and managed to stay hidden and undetected for most of it." Fury surged, but it was self-directed and coated with frustration. He'd let Sidious and Lyonides give him the run-around for far too long. "All Sith Lords are devious, ruthless, manipulative and cunning," he continued, "but none more so than this man. He was my master for over twenty years. I know him. It's imperative that we find out what it is that he wants. He has a plan, he always does."

"Excuse me for being Captain Obvious here, but he's a Narzgh," pointed out Sal. "They always want the same thing—the rest of us in hell with them."

"You've just made your first fatal mistake in underestimating him," shot back Anakin, harshly. "He is no more _just a Narzgh_ than he was _just an emperor_. He is the most powerful Sith Lord to have ever existed, and we don't merely need to come up with a plan to foil him, but counter-scenarios for all of the alternate plans that he'll have as back-ups. He is nothing if not thorough, and improvising is a particular skill of his. If we want to beat him, then we have to box him in—contain him—and to do that I need information."

o~o~o

The original builders of Junga Roth had built a labyrinthine series of underground tunnels under their city. Most were no longer in use after the Lyonides family had spread false reports that the Narzgh had used them to invade the city all of those decades ago. Taking full advantage of that same paranoia, Jester the Besalisk had upgraded many for his complex and then been smart enough to seal them so that any wandering and _brave_ citizens team wouldn't stumble across them.

In theory, the plan was simple. The man they needed to rescue was being held deep beneath the palace, in a part of the structure that predated the existing building. They were going to use the tunnels to reach the place where Zarc Wess was being held captive. If they were successful in freeing him, he would then be taken directly to the barrier generator to make whatever modifications were required. Unfortunately, the tunnels did not lead to the barrier—meaning that they would have to travel a good distance through the city streets.

Streets swarming with Narzgh. It was suicidal.

Everything was moving terrifyingly fast for Obonè. Still reeling from Kenobi's revelations, she'd been drawn into a meeting were they'd come up with their desperate plan. From there it had been straight into picking the individual team members and then diving into preparation mode. The whole process was crazily rushed and yet they had no time for slowing down and thinking it out.

What was there to think about, she asked herself. This would either work or it wouldn't. A shudder worked its way down her spine accompanied by a wave of cold nausea. All around her it was controlled mayhem as the two ten-people teams were being briefly trained and kitted out.

Tension locked the muscles in her shoulders and cramped those in her gut. Twenty people that she was responsible for sending out to die, or worse. It dumbfounded her that only a few days ago, the most pressing decision she'd had to make was whether to petition the employment minister to fund a job skills training programme for the Outer Rim.

Dear gods!

Numb inside, she watched the team members, getting in the way as they packed their gear, prepped their weapons, programmed the scout droid and numerous other activities. Data and power cables snaked everywhere and utility droids were trundling along loading and unloading supplies. Some of the people she knew, such as Jazz, but many were strangers to her; ruthless strangers of various species who held the fate of Roth in their hands. The noise level was busy and industrious with too many jokes that were laughed at too hard. She wasn't the only one feeling tension.

After finally noticing the strange looks being cast her way, Obonè realised that she was viewed as an interloper, so turned and left with no clear idea of where she was heading. She had a choice: resume nursing duties—made redundant by Jester's medical droids—help the ongoing effort to provide reassurance, food and bedding to the other survivors, or return to the command centre and stand about feeling equally useless. She chose to be busy for the hour or so spare before the final predawn briefing.

She hadn't gone two steps before a voice said over her right shoulder, "Bounty hunters aren't renowned for their ability to work as a team." There was an amused pause, "neither are they used to being worried over."

Obonè turned to look into the far too knowing blue-grey eyes of Obi-Wan Kenobi. "Jester runs a tight ship and I'm banking on that including his employees." She looked away again. "Besides, I'd feel a whole lot worse about sending untrained fighters into the Core."

"A fair point," the Jedi conceded. "Where are you headed?"

Sensing that they hadn't met by chance, Obonè decided to lie. "I hadn't quite decided."

"In that case I'll walk with you." He left a delicate pause. "If you don't mind the company?"

An appropriately polite response formed on the tip of her tongue, only to replaced at the last moment by a blunt query, "What's on your mind Master Jedi?"

He deflected her with ease and his usual perfect civility mixed with wry, self-directed amusement. "Oh, this and that. I find there's always something worth mulling over."

The tunnels were busy. Even though most of the survivors not affiliated with Jester had been confined to non-essential areas of the sprawling complex, they had to thread their way through a bottleneck of sentients at the intersection of four more tunnels.

Kenobi took the left tunnel, the only one that appeared all but deserted. It was cold and Obonè crossed her arms to ward it off and retain body heat. "Is Jester certain that the poison is instant and painless?" she asked.

She'd forgotten that he'd protested the issue of the pills, and was abruptly reminded when she saw the distaste Kenobi didn't try to hide. "I'm reliably informed that it is so, yes. Let's hope that no one becomes desperate enough to try it out."

"Personally, I'd take a quick death to what the Narzgh are doing to people—which is precisely the reason the pills are being issued," she pointed out. "No one will be instructed to use them. The idea is that it would be voluntary."

"Oh, I'm not disputing that. It's just that when I was being sent out on dangerous missions, I preferred to focus on the objective rather than the numerous dangers." Dryly, he added, "I've always found that creating a positive mind-frame can make a big difference, to myself, and any troops under my command."

All of a sudden his unruffled composure aggravated her beyond bearing, making her snap, "It would make a big difference to everyone's state of mind if they knew that a Jedi was going along too."

"Which brings me to what I wanted to talk to you about," said Kenobi with a slight grimace. "Forgive my prevaricating before, but I didn't want to be overheard."

Her heart leapt with hope. "You've changed your mind? You'll go on the rescue?"

"Unfortunately, not, no. I have to leave now. I'd hoped to stay longer, but …" he trailed off.

"You're leaving now!" she couldn't believe what she was hearing and came to a dead stop. "Just like that and before the final briefing?"

"My mission is complete. You've been warned about what it is you're facing and you have a viable plan. That is as much as I am authorised to do." Sympathy, remorse and regret briefly chased one another over his face. "I'm sorry, I really am. I wish it were otherwise."

Obonè was too flabbergasted to appreciate his regret. "I don't understand any of this." Anger flared, hot and sharp. Throwing up her arms, she whirled away, only to spin back. "If you people are so omnipotent as to be able to see what's going on or going to happen, why can't you do anything about it? In fact while we're on the topic, why did you let it go so far?"

The accusation behind the furious questions seemed to hover in the air between them. Ridiculously, she felt betrayed. He might have only been there for less than a day, but there was something so utterly _noble_ about him that was impossible to resist. He'd offered them _hope_.

"We are far from omnipotent, Obonè," said Kenobi, the calm to her storm. "Our ability to view what is happening in worlds other than our own is real, but mostly limited to the present. Think of it as dreaming that you're watching a scene through a window while it's being enacted on the other side. None of us predicted this until it was almost too late. The future is fluid and forever changing and we can only hazard guesses. At least half of the time, we get it wrong, which is precisely why we cannot interfere directly in a matter as potentially catastrophic as this one. If the possible consequences weren't so awful, I would be allowed to do more—" He spread his hands helplessly "—but as it is…we dare not."

"I don't buy that."

"Unfortunately, it's the truth," he returned gently. "We haven't been keeping things from you."

"Maybe, but there's another reason why you're in such a rush to leave." Obonè was suddenly certain of it.

Kenobi acknowledged her perception with a smile. "And you'll find out what it is in a very short while. However, it is also true that I've been recalled and I don't have much time. There are fresh concerns that my presence might muddy certain waters and my arguments to the contrary have fallen on deaf ears. I must go."

"You're still not making any sense."

"I know, but you'll understand soon." Reaching out, he clasped her hands briefly in his own. "I sought you out because I didn't want to leave without saying farewell and good luck."

There seemed to be nothing more to be said and with a heavy heart, Obonè watched the Jedi retrace his steps and disappear.

o~o~o

E-1VE, shortened to Eve by her masters, was rattled and irritated, or as close to experiencing those emotions as a protocol droid could come. Or any droid for that matter, she told herself huffily. It was a matter of pride to her that she could imitate the idiosyncrasies of her creators nearly as well as they could. Except, of course, for logic, time management, dedication to a task and not vacillating on priorities.

She'd been busy. More importantly, she'd been close to completing her translation programme for the rare Monalimaki language, only to be interrupted and pulled away to undertake a menial chore more suited to a mere service droid. Protocol droids didn't do _deliveries_. It was obscene, and infuriating.

For Stars sake! What was it to her if a sentry needed his com-link replaced due to a malfunction?

Stuff and nonsense.

If she could have, Eve would have heaved an aggrieved sigh.

Even her servos sounded agitated as she rounded the last corner. The moment she did, she noted that the two Twi'lek sentries were sprawled unconscious on the tunnel floor with a cloaked figure standing over them. Eve's survival protocols kicked in immediately, and freezing on the spot, she raised her hands with a high-pitched cry of dismay, "oh my".

Twin blasters were aimed directly at her alloy-plated thorax, held by a pair of dubious-looking characters, one of which resembled a tower of rippling fur. Even more bizarrely, a mangy and rusted astromech droid was just visible behind the trio.

"Take me to the Besalisk," commanded the cloaked one in a tone that brooked no opposition.

Still with her arms cautiously raised, Eve didn't hesitate to voice her willingness to comply. "Certainly, if you insist."

Protocol droids were not built for speed. The menacing trio and their scruffy droid were soon surrounding Eve as she led them through the tunnels. Their oppressive silence prohibited her own more cordial sub-routines and although she formulated several friendly conversational gambits, she ended up discarding them. Worse, try as she might, Eve could find no opportunity for alerting any of the passers-by that she was being coerced into guiding the intruders to her master.

Jester, she deduced with a sinking feeling in her abdominal motor, was not going to be impressed.

She had some hope when they approached the 'beating heart' of Jester's underground and illicit kingdom—the operational centre. Two more guards were standing on either side of the blast-proof door, giving every appearance of competent vigilance coupled with the usual willingness of the criminal element to erupt into violence. For once, Eve was fully prepared to appreciate such deplorable aggression.

The hope was short-lived. The cloaked man—she'd noticed that he had human hands—raised one of those hands and spoke in a low, authoritative voice, "We're expected. You will let us pass unchallenged."

Eve did a double take when the guards obediently stepped aside and actually _keyed in the code_ to unlock the sealed door. It swished aside and they stepped through into the glaringly bright and crowded room beyond.

It was like walking into a wall of noise. Dozens of sentients from numerous species were seated in a sunken, circular briefing area, and all were talking at once and trying to be heard over each other. In the centre was a meter high holomap of the forgotten and disused underground of Junga Roth.

Standing just before the holomap was a heavy-set and dark-skinned human female dressed in flowing white from head to toe. Her voice rose easily over the cacophony. "He warned us that he would not be able to lead the mission. He did not mislead us."

"But we assumed …"

"… terrible news … "

"Typical … kriff needs … Jedi …"

Once again the female's voice was clearly audible over the anger, outrage and nerves. "This moaning and bickering is useless and we don't have _time_ for it. We can't change what's happened, but we can try and make it better. Let's be honest, we have no real choice. It's up to us now."

In the simmering quiet that followed, Eve shuffled forward and raised her right arm for attention. "Pardon me for interrupting your meeting, Master Jester, but I think that you should know that you have some unexpected guests." With some trepidation, she gestured to the two humans, the Wookiee and the droid who were ranged behind her in a semicircle.

All eyes swung their way, making Eve wish that she had a physiology to gulp. There were certain types of attention that she preferred to avoid, and this definitely seemed like one of them.

The silence was deafening for a full second.

Then the woman said in a bewildered tone, "Freyrr? Sal? I thought you'd gone for good?"

In answer, the cloaked man drew back his hood to reveal dark blonde hair, and said, "We're back."

Startled, Eve actually stumbled back a step when the entire assemblage erupted in a clamorous roar.

o~o~o

It was funny, mused Lorne woozily. He could drink a tanker-load of alcohol and not even get tipsy, but give him a few glasses of milk and he was three parts cut. His non-human constitution reacted to it in the same way as a man does to rot-gut whisky. Luckily for him, he reflected, the Limidian had a decent stock of the white stuff.

He'd needed to get drunk. After reading Anakin it had been an absolute necessity.

So much for minimum safe distance, he thought with a spine-cracking shudder.

The deck of the freighter undulated under him so that Lorne stumbled and crashed into one of the walls. He overcompensated, bounced too hard and did the same on the other side just outside the crew quarters where Padmè was floating in that weird jello-type stuff.

Propped up on the wall with his long legs tangled, he raised his fingers to his lips and shushed himself, loudly. It took several attempts to get his legs co-ordinated enough to support him.

Finally standing on his own two feet and having made enough noise to raise the dead, he turned—and gave a piercing shriek at coming face-to-face with a white-haired and glowering gargoyle.

"What the kriff do you think you're doing?" growled Doc. "I have a patient who needs peace and quiet."

"And you nearly had a second one sneaking up on me like that," Lorne protested, swaying hard enough that if the wall hadn't been there to prop him up again, he would have ended up on his ass. Then a question occurred to him. "Can she actually hear anything in there?" he asked, cocking his head and then wishing he hadn't.

Instead of answering Doc's glower darkened and his lip curled in derision. He crossed his arms. "You're drunk."

"You betcha." Lorne saluted him with the empty cup, "And I plan on staying that way for the foreseeable future."

"Wanna tell me why?"

"Oh the usual," said Lorne airily. "Worlds ending, dimensions collapsing, demons running amok, and the good guys skirting so close to the line that they make the big bads look all sweetness'n'light in comparison." He waved a hand. "Y'know, the usual."

He was so drunk that he had to blink and stare before he realised that the figure coming up behind Doc wasn't a hallucination. "What have you seen, Lorne?" asked Padmè bluntly. Dark eyes in a pale face seemed to drill right into him.

o~o~o

There had been no time for in-depth explanations or indulging in relief. Anakin, Sal, and Freyrr had joined the briefing and outlined their own ideas for entering the Core and getting to the barrier. In the end, the final plan had morphed into an amalgamation of both.

Two hours later, the large, ball-shaped scout droid took point, searching the tunnels for Narzgh or other life forms before the two teams risked passing from one dilapidated tunnel into another. There was no power, meaning they had to supply their own illumination and prise apart sealed sections with hydraulic pressure clamps. Looking at the walls and ceilings, Anakin wondered uneasily if the greatest danger wasn't the structural integrity of the tunnels rather than the Narzgh. They'd made good progress for the first hour and soon passed deep into the Core. Above their heads, the city should have been enjoying the first warming rays of dawn instead of a second day of murder and mutilation.

Unfortunately, they'd had to take a detour around a collapsed part of tunnel located approximately under the security and enforcement sector of Roth. If they had the location correct, the collapse had probably been caused during the construction of Natar's notorious sub-level security HQ and detention centre. Either way the detour had cost them another hour.

The gauntlet holotransmitter strapped to Anakin's wrist displayed a miniature version of the holomap seen at the briefing, and it showed that they were finally approaching the palace. A hope supported by the fact that they'd also reached a seal that was unmarred, gave the appearance of being in perfect working order, and was supplied with power. No one spoke or broke the silence in any way. At this point, surprise and secrecy was absolutely essential. The tension racked up by incremental degrees—you could practically taste the surge of adrenaline. The scout droid was already connected to the data interface socket and working on cracking the code.

The seal opened with a hiss and they filed cautiously inside. Anakin took the lead with only the scout droid floating ahead. The dark side of the Force was suffocatingly strong now. The very air seemed saturated with evil, and an immense, impenetrable power. That power called to him as he crept along with his lightsaber gripped in his left hand. Old promises, visions and temptations teased the edges of his mind. He was whole again. Just imagine the power he would wield. The things he could do would have no limit. Never again would he be subjected to pain, torment and uncertainty. He would eclipse Sidious utterly and the threat now hanging over everyone, alive or dead, would be gone. The third world would remain as it was now and Luke and Leia, along with billions of others in the living universe, would never know its atrocities.

As for Roth, the people he cared about and strangers alike would never have to fear for their safety with such an all-powerful ruler protecting them.

It was so obvious. He could make it all just go away. All he had to do was reach out and accept.

Someone nudged his elbow. "Hey!" hissed a voice. "You okay? You've just stopped."

Anakin blinked, feeling as if he was surfacing from a dream. Looking into Sal's concerned, pitted face, he felt a weight lift off his mind and reluctantly withdraw. Everyone was looking at him. _Force! What had he been thinking?_ A tremor ran down the length of his spine. He shook his head to dispel a sudden dizziness. "I'm fine. There's nothing wrong. Let's go."

A tall, blue-skinned Chiss whom Anakin had heard referred to as 'Vlad' tapped him on the shoulder before they could move off and showed him the datapad that was being used to record and analyse the data from the scout droid.

There were five battle droids up ahead, and in a chamber beyond, the heat signature of a single humanoid. While the information was passed along to everyone, Anakin sucked in a slow deep breath. So, Obi-Wan had been right about the location of Wess and the fact that Sidious would not trust either human or Narzgh guards. Fine. Great. But it didn't change the fact that Anakin was hurt, and yes, suspicious about his obvious avoidance of him. He hadn't wanted to believe it when Obonè and other others had told him about the Jedi who'd appeared out of nowhere to help them. _Obi-Wan had been there_! Why hadn't he waited and given Anakin the information personally? It made no sense. Was he so little trusted? Did Obi-Wan's speech all those months ago about faith and redemption mean so little? Had Lyonides been right about _that_ at least? He didn't know anymore. From the moment they'd escaped the third world everything had become blurred. Wherever he looked he could see only darkness, pain and suffering. Padmè was hurt and probably despised him, Obi-Wan obviously didn't trust him, and Sidious had lured him into hell and then taken over Roth, subjecting the people Anakin had wanted to protect to unimaginable horrors.

Injustice, anger, shame and insult burned in his belly.

Put it aside, he told himself grimly, and get on with freeing Wess. Everything else must wait.

"Let's go. I want both teams in a stealth pattern following behind me."

TBC

Note (4) – Take a deep breath. The next chapter is going to be heavy on the action!


	18. Chapter 20

**Happy New Year! I hope you all had a great holiday and beginning to 2009. **

ANON REPLY - mlhkvh5 - Yay I'm so delighted that the story is continuing to grab you, and that you caught onto the fact that Obi-Wan didn't want to leave but was given no choice. I hope that the new chapter is equally as enthralling for you. XX

GENERAL NOTE: I have to admit that I'm finding writing the end chapters of this story a real pig, mainly because my muse has gone AWOL *sigh* BUT, I refuse to risk leaving it for a while in the hope that it comes back, because from bitter experience I know that the longer I leave it the less I'll be able to connect with the story—and I refuse to write the longest fic I've ever written (my usual is only about a third of this size) and then abandon it right at the very end. I just hope my lack of muse isn't affecting the read quality for you. *blush*

On a related topic I have to say that I _hugely_ appreciate all of those readers that have consistently given me the encouragement to continue. I know for a fact that this fic wouldn't be where it is without you! Seriously, writing in a vacuum sucks, so big, big thanks with chocolate whipped cream on top. *g*

Okay, on with the story…

**Chapter Twenty**

_Darth Vader, the proverbial man-in-black, may be getting ready for a come-back gig. Minus the breathing apparatus._

They were in the impromptu infirmary and Doc had left them alone to talk. Sobering quickly, Lorne was perched on one of the beds with a dry-ice bag pressed to his forehead. He was looking remarkably pale for a being whose complexion was bright green. Even his twin horns seemed to be drooping.

His statement had dropped with the power of an Ion cannon.

"Are you sure about what you saw?" asked Padmè, reeling. It was difficult to get the words out passed the lump in her throat. Her mind was whirling and she felt as if her body was encased in ice, immovable except for a lurching stomach. This must be how it feels to have every one of your worst nightmares become real she realised sickly.

"Heck, no!" replied Lorne a little testily. "I keep telling you folks…" Stopping, he sighed, and then explained in a trying-to-be-patient tone. "Mostly I just see auras with a few scattered glimpses of past, present and_possible_ future—a bit like after dinner mints—y'know, the hard, pebbly kind that nobody wants? None of it's cast in stone, princess."

"Did you tell Anakin?" she asked doggedly, "Warn him of what might happen?"

"Yes, I did," said Lorne, still in that patient voice. He dropped the ice bag and his grim red gaze latched onto hers. "Not that he listened. I gotta tell you, his whole aura reeked of got-nothing-to-lose, and in my experience, that kind of 'tude can get you into all kinds of trouble—as well as anyone else who happens to be unlucky enough to be in the vicinity."

The ice dug deeper, splintering into her heart. Anakin felt as if he had nothing to lose. Oh gods! She could recall all too clearly the last time he'd been in such a mind frame. Speech was impossible. She could only stare numbly at Lorne.

Those red eyes didn't leave her face. "I mean, fair enough, he could be reacting to the whole end-of-life-as-we-know-it scenario, but I was getting another vibe too. I don't suppose something happened in the third world that might explain this sudden switch from 'hero striving to live in the light' to 'I don't give a crap so long as the job gets done'"?

Overwrought, Padmè threw up her hands. "Lots of things happened. How do I even begin to pin it down?" The ice was gone and a dreadful jittery panic had taken its place. What was Anakin planning, _thinking_ to run off and ignore such a warning? He should have waited and let them talk it through.

After an assessing pause, Lorne patted the cot next to him in invitation. "How about you just give me the highlights and we'll go from there."

Padmè sat, hardly noticing that she did so. "There were things that happened. It was horrible, worse than I can possibly explain, but I lied to you just then. I do have an idea what might have caused Anakin to become …" she couldn't say dark so settled for "… withdrawn."

Lorne waved her on.

"Near the end we met some creatures. We'd been trying to find a way out when they lured us into an ambush of sorts. They took the shapes of people we cared about and taunted us. They said that Anakin didn't have what it took to escape in him—not anymore. It was a reference to his past—to Vader—I know it was. It made me wonder if it isn't the Narzgh's hatred that gives them the power to tear through the veil and get to us here."

"Makes sense, and so does Vader finding it as easy as a revolving door," quipped Lorne, catching onto what she was saying.

"Exactly, and now I'm afraid that Anakin must have found a way to tap back into that. How else did he get us back here?"

"And, keeping with door analogies…that was one we _really_ didn't want Mr Tall-Blonde'n'Brooding opening up again, huh."

"Exactly, and that's not all. Earlier on I gave myself away. I let my guard down and he saw that I still loved him—we kissed—and then we were running for our lives with no chance to talk."

"And?" Lorne prompted.

"And I got sick. I was dying. Anakin refused to let me just slip away." Tears pricked her eyes and she hugged her arms around herself. "He…he told me things, terrible things that would get through no matter how far gone I was…I think he was hoping to make me angry enough to fight to live."

"Looks like it worked."

The tears splashed onto her cheeks and almost angrily she dashed them away. "It did, but I don't know if I can forgive him for the things he told me he did, and he has to realise that. Anakin isn't stupid and he knows me. It's why I've been trying so hard not to give away the fact that I still have strong feelings for him—that I love him—because…"

"Because he can't handle the risk of losing the love of someone who means so much to him?" finished Lorne when she faltered. He grimaced. "That sounds great in theory, princess, but there's a flaw. His love for you doesn't depend on you loving him back. You are literally his sun, moon and stars." Drooping even further, he heaved a sigh, closing his eyes to massage his aching forehead. "Still, both of those things coming on top of a universe-ending crisis does go a long way to explaining why our hero-in-retraining has gone all Captain Reckless on us. On the same day he finds out that he could have his hearts desire—aka you—he loses it again only hours later. To save you he had to ruin his own chances at happiness. Not good. I bet he'd like to kick fates' ass—or whoever gave it a nudge along."

o~o~o

The two cloaked figures kept to the sidewalk of the deserted streets of the Outer Rim. Despite this caution there was no furtiveness in the way they walked. They didn't stick purely to the shadows or slip from building to building and street corner to street corner, or use the abandoned market and vendor stalls as additional cover. Rather, they walked quickly and with an obvious destination in mind. For the most part they were as silent as the eerily empty city quadrants they were passing through. The blazing orb of the rising sun was growing warmer by the second, but there was only the hurrying pair to greet it.

"How's your head?" asked Padmè.

"Still attached," Lorne replied morosely.

Padmè got the distinct impression that he bit back an adjoining _unfortunately_. "I know just how you feel," she offered with a wan smile. She wasn't kidding. Her own head was splitting but she had reason to be grateful for the distraction. Blocking out _his_ voice was easy when you add in the unrelenting thump between her temples.

If only she could do something similar for her heart.

It didn't stop the images though—images Anakin had deliberately planted into her head.

_He was trying to stop you from slipping away._ _He saved you._

She knew that, but it didn't stop her feeling horror and revulsion. Logically, she also knew that Vader had done worse than torturing and hunting down their children like animals. He'd spread murder and mayhem across a thousands worlds in the name of the emperor and she'd forgiven him, but she been telling Lorne the truth back on the Limidian. She didn't know if she could forgive him for Luke and Leia, and that too was ripping her emotions into shreds. Okay, they'd been adults, but to her they were their _children_ and the last time she'd seen they'd been tiny babies. He'd actually tortured Leia! She still loved Anakin, and she always would—she could admit that now—but she didn't know if this latest series of revelations would drive a fatal, immovable wedge between them. _She just didn't know!_

From the moment she'd regained consciousness, she'd felt as if she were being torn apart by the raging conflict in her heart. It was all too fresh, too raw. And now was not the time to analyse and make decisions. Once again her personal life was having to settle for coming a distant second to life itself.

Anakin _had_ saved her and it was time to return the favour, either that or Junga Roth might just need saving from him too. Who knew better than she than an unstable, vengeful Anakin could be cataclysmic? As it had when Lorne had first spelled out to her what he'd gleaned while Anakin was singing her blood froze. It was a concept that was simply too unutterably appalling to contemplate. It was also heartbreaking to recall that mere days ago she'd been all but convinced that Anakin had completely shed Vader, only to be potentially proved wrong. The dark spectre of his Sith past would probably always mar everything, an immovable stain that would either recede or rush to the fore depending on his emotions. Perhaps they would both need to come to terms with that fact, and act accordingly.

Even supposing they survived and she could forgive him, could she risk this happening again in the future? Life, even in the after-life and especially in the second world, was tenuous. Life here was _supposed_ to be transient. The second world was a stop-over on the way to a final destination. She was the exception not the rule.

When she realised the despairing direction her thoughts had taken, Padmè yanked them back. It didn't matter. First they had to survive this crisis before she could hypothesise about another.

She had to concentrate on today.

Lorne said that his visions or whatever they were weren't definite, just possible, but Padmè couldn't afford to dismiss any risk that could result in the return of Darth Vader. None of them could. Sucking in a slow, calming breath and unclenching her fists, she vowed that she'd find Sidious herself first if she had to—and step one to accomplishing that was being in the right place at the right time.

"We're almost there," puffed Lorne, more to himself than Padmè.

She refocused her attention to their immediate surroundings. He was right. The huge dome of the sports arena they'd been using to outfit various small craft with UV weapons was only a few blocks away now, and already the dominant feature of the cityscape. They'd decided against Padmè flying the Limidian into the open-sky arena. It was all too likely that Lyonides had been aware of what was going on there and they didn't want to run the risk that he was having the skies monitored for traffic. Why forewarn? A few more minutes of brisk walking brought them to the ramp that led to the massive entrance. Padmè and Lorne had barely stepped inside though when they found themselves surrounded by grim-faced sentients who were aiming blaster rifles at them with deadly purpose.

"Halt. This is a restricted area. Identify yourselves."

Padmè lowered her hood and looked confidently into the eyes of the nearest. "My name is Padmè Amidala and I want to talk to whoever is in charge here."

o~o~o

Jester had been ruminating on the past, and the fact that he'd forgotten just how much he loved tinkering with machinery; then the message had come through that he should expect some unexpected company in the form of Councillor Amidala and an unknown escort. Using his middle two arms to pull his bulk from under a lightly armoured skiff, Jester chuckled and scratched an itch on his wattle with the tip of a servodriver. "Well, if today ain't the day for surprise company, huh."

With difficulty he rose, aware of an increase in the charged atmosphere of the others working with him in the arena. He knew the cause. Here was the second of only two people to have _ever_ escaped and returned from the third world. Truth to tell, he was actually glad of the warning. Jester had been mightily embarrassed to find himself cheering along with the rest when Skywalker had strode in on the briefing, and he didn't want a repeat. A man in his position had a certain reputation to uphold.

Hot _damn_ if that hadn't been a moment for cheering, though, he thought, making allowances for himself. Not to mention it had been a huge boost just when they'd needed it.

Jester had time to briefly dust himself off before Padmè Amidala was walking across the dirty sand to reach him. He scrutinised her from the top of severely pulled back dark hair to the tip of brown knee-high boots, but could detect no real change in her. A trifle unwillingly, his respect for human females, and this one in particular, increased a hundred-fold. Next to her was a tall, green-skinned humanoid with a bizarre set of red horns on his forehead and a pair of red eyes to match. This had to be that Lorne guy, Jazz had mentioned, he realised, amused and curious. He waved away the quartet of guards that were surrounding the odd pair.

"Good mornin' to you, Councillor," he greeted her with all of his considerable charm. "You're a sight for sore eyes, especially considering the last time we saw you was on the holonet and while being dragged into hell."

"It's nice to see you too, Jester, but please I have to ask that we dispense with the small talk. We're here because we want to man one of the craft going into the Core." Before he could even reply, she tipped up a regal chin and amended the request to a demand, "Actually, make that _intend_ to be in one of them."

To give himself time, Jester took to scratching at his crest with the same servodriver. "Well now, before I accede to your persuasive argument, Councillor, perhaps I should mention that it's likely to be a suicide run."

She didn't so much as blink. "What part of any of this plan _isn't_ suicidal?"

o~o~o

Anakin used the Force to increase his speed as well as cushion his footfalls so that they remained silent. They were no longer using their glow rods in an effort to maximise any element of surprise. The enclosed feeling of the tunnels coupled with the darkness was an eerie reminder of the third world. The big difference was that the Force was palpable here. The sheer condensed power if it staggered him, and tempted him. Nearby and somewhere overhead, Sidious was drawing on the dark side in an unimaginable measure. It seeped into every crack and every pore, into every one of his thoughts—a dead, black presence that chilled the heart if you let it.

He had once wielded its power and its taste was familiar.

Lorne's warnings intruded and Anakin blocked them. There was no choice. Sidious has to be stopped he told himself grimly, and then amended it to, No! Not has to be stopped … _will_ be stopped, _by me_!

Once again, the man he'd called friend and then master had tried to use Padmè against him. The first time Palpatine had cost him his family as well as his soul, and this time possibly every hope of Anakin winning Padmè's love again. The wrenching agony of that realisation was horrendous, but Anakin was used to almost unceasing pain. As Vader he'd more or less become conditioned to pain and he wouldn't let it deter him now; any more than he'd let his doubts and agonies impinge on his actions as Vader. No matter what it was never going to happen again. Sidious was never ever again going to lay a hand on Anakin's family—he was going to see to it, personally.

Grief and pain, shame and guilt had no place in his psyche now. The fiery passion of zeal was forcefully extinguished. It was cold, but it was a chill that Anakin welcomed. His anguish over Padmè now despising him was locked away to cripple him at another time and when it no longer mattered. Mental discipline was a legacy of Vader that he was grateful to be able to use now. Gritting his jaw, he reminded himself that whatever had gone on before was over and done with and couldn't be changed, and whatever might happen in the future was useless conjecture. Until Sidious had been dealt with there could be no redemption, no friendship, nor love, reconciliation or forgiveness. Anakin had realised all of this within moments of opening his eyes onboard the Limidian. Everything else must give way to this single objective. It was the only way.

He could see the faint glow of illumination up ahead. They knew courtesy of the holomap that this tunnel ended in a circular antechamber and that Wess was likely being held in a sealed chamber leading off it. Anakin motioned for the others to drop back while he went ahead. Silently, they obeyed.

He didn't try and mask his approach, instead picking up speed again. It wasn't long before he was running towards a welcoming barrage of red energy bolts. They'd detected him. Recklessness shimmered in his blood.

Five droids shouldn't have been much of an obstacle. As he approached, easily deflecting their cannon bolts, Anakin visualised how he would take them down. Confidence suffused him and it was second nature to use the Force to increase his speed, strength and agility. The chamber was small enough that all five droids were grouped in a tight formation. Before the droids could assimilate the risk, he would be right in the middle of them. He would spin and his lightsaber would flash and burn, slicing off reinforced alloy limbs and deeply sunken heads in a matter of seconds.

Easy.

His blood was up and his system charged. He was so assured of his imagined scenario that he missed the first trickle of warning that feathered over his mind. Two steps away from the end of the tunnel, he bent his knees, prepared to begin the flip that would take him sailing over the droids heads and right into their midst. The second warning was more of a blast and it almost staggered him. It was impossible to ignore. At the last possible microsecond, Anakin managed to twist so that his impetus changed direction and instead of leaping into the antechamber, he half climbed the encircling tunnel wall, flipped, and landed back on his feet.

Confused, his focus slipped and he let a cannon bolt slide past his guard to burn a hole in the outer edge of Sal's jacket sleeve. It also sizzled across his right bicep and made him hiss in pain. Instinct brought his lightsaber back into defensive play to deflect more blaster bolts.

That was when he noticed how none of his own team's return fire was getting through to the droids. _A shield. They had a shield_, he realised dumbly. Worse, the shield wasn't deflecting their shots but obliterating them. If he hadn't managed to stop himself, he would probably have disintegrated the instant he crossed the shield threshold.

He wasn't the only one to notice their lack of success, and the implication.

"We're kriffing target practice. They can shoot at us but we can't shoot back." Anakin didn't recognise the deep and yet distinctly female voice, but he appreciated the frustration.

She was right. They were stuck in what had become a shooting gallery. No matter how many he deflected, the tunnel was thick with deadly red bolts and Anakin could hear the people behind him getting picked off by those that got passed him. Their own scout droid was too slow to take evasive action and took a direct hit; it exploded in a shower of sparks and debris. Cursing audibly, Sal and the others hugged the sides of the tunnel and uselessly tried to return fire. They were pinned down and unable to advance. It was only a matter of time before they would have to make a choice—retreat or die.

Wess had even less of a choice. As Anakin watched one of the droids detached from the rest and strode purposefully over to the door they were guarding. He knew why. It made perfect sense that Sidious would have ordered Wess executed if a rescue attempt was made. It was one of those little details that his old master would not overlook. As Vader, he would have done the same.

In a matter of moments their entire plan would be in ruins, and all he could do was watch, powerless to do anything.

The consequences of losing Wess would be catastrophic. If the Narzgh in the Core weren't destroyed their chances of victory over such insurmountable odds were little more than zero. Sidious would win. Life to a large extent would come to an end. Luke, Leia and Padmè would suffer unimaginably. Anakin's fresh rage was a tidal wave that swept all before it.

"NO!"

His bellow was full of furious denial, and without thinking, he raised his hand and channelled his wrath through that single, concentrated focal point. Power leapt from his fingertips and the ceiling over the droid's heads started to crack in every direction. A spider's web of fissures opened, accompanied by the resounding sound of splintering rock and over-stressed metal. All five droids, including the one about to step through the unsealed doorway, halted and looked up—just as the entire ceiling of the antechamber collapsed in on them.

o~o~o

Sidious could not recall ever having felt fear. Not his own at least. Yet it was such an intensely powerful emotion. Fear swept all before it, it was stronger than anger, and far more powerful than hatred and passion all combined. Only grief came close to matching its soul destroying grip. Add the complete absence of hope to fear and grief and the results were unfathomable by the feeble minds of most sentients. Not so Darth Sidious.

The dark side of the Force was so bloated with the terror and pain of Junga Roth's citizen's that Sidious felt as if he was walking, moving and breathing in a physical entity—a dense, heaving mass of energy that offered incredible, limitless power in one hand, but blinded and deafened with the other. To open oneself up to it was to be bombarded with the torment of millions, to have your mind raped with a thousand horrors—in essence, chaos in its purest form.

It was sublime! It was glorious! But it came at a high price, including control and the ability sense anything beyond the roiling mass he was attempting to use.

When his mangled, perverted spirit had returned to his body, he'd found his physical form to have degenerated alarmingly during the separation. The hands he was using to shape the newer, bigger vortex were even more skeletal than before. The face caught in the unnatural glow of that same vortex was covered with so little flesh that the mottled grey skin appeared stretched over the bones. Only the burning yellow of his eyes remained unchanged.

Fury entered those eyes when the interruption came.

Ponderous, rhythmic marching steps heralded the arrival of two super battle droids. "What is it?" Sidious snapped, not bothering to turn around. The ritual was barely started and the vortex highly unstable. This was no time to be distracted.

"Sir, a few minutes ago we received a report from the units in sector U1 that intruders were approaching. Those units have since gone offline."

"Meaning that they've been destroyed," spat Sidious.

The red glow of the droid's sensors dimmed as it computed probabilities and reached the same conclusion. "Yes, sir."

U1 was the designator given by the droids to the location of the cell holding Zarc Wess. Sidious felt another surge of frustration at his current inability to see beyond his immediate environs. It had to be an attempt by the scum of the Outer Rim to rescue their pathetic city, he reasoned. Such unexpected and foolish bravery was annoying, but he could not imagine how they possibly expected to prevail against such odds. Besides which, Wess' mind was utterly broken: he would be useless to anyone. Still … caution demanded some measures be taken. "Deploy reinforcements to the barrier control room, immediately," he snapped. "And, I want additional units stationed here at the palace."

"Yes, sir!"

Another thought occurred and Sidious finally turned his head, amber gaze burning with a sudden possibility. "Also inform the Narzgh guard that I wish a message relayed to the rest. There are other tunnels than the few I used, and, if memory serves me, some lead close to the barrier generator. I want those exits to be put under heavy guard."

"I'll relay your order, sir."

"Good. Now leave me."

o~o~o

The very air was laden with choking dust, ozone, scorched metal, acrid smoke and sweat. The five hulking super battle droids were entirely submerged and buried in rubble. The shield generator had been destroyed along with them.

"Well, that was efficient," commented Sal dryly, wiping his sleeve across his forehead to swipe off an oozing trickle of blood. He hadn't ducked low enough when the scout droid had gone bye-bye. "Are you sure you need the rest of us?" he called up as Anakin clambered over the rock and debris that now rose to mid torso.

Squatting, Anakin peered into the darkness of the chamber that he hoped contained Wess. "Droids are easy. The hard part is going to be getting passed a few thousand Narzgh. I doubt you'll be bored."

"Let's hope our little party here didn't disturb the neighbours," said one of the bounty hunters, a female. It was what they were all thinking and fearing. Her casual tone defied the nerves and urgency that was building in all of them. "I still think we should have tried an EMP grenade. They usually work on droids."

"Not these. I've come across similar models before and they're built to withstand any and all external interference." Having closed that particular topic, Anakin rose, re-igniting his lightsaber and ducked into the chamber with a terse instruction tossed over his shoulder to the others, "Wait here for me."

Inside, the noxious stench of rotting flesh was gag-worthy, and didn't bode well. Thanks largely to the blue glow of his lightsaber, the smell of death in the chamber was easily explained. Corpses dangled from chains in intervals around the filthy walls. They were in various stages of decomposition from only a few strips of flesh still clinging to the bones, to just starting to decay. In all cases it was difficult to determine if the horrific damage was pre or post mortem.

Anakin didn't turn when he heard the sounds of someone else sliding down into the chamber. "Poor bastards," muttered Sal, not even trying to hide the shudder that tracked down his spine. He peered around the dark, dank gloom. "You found Zarc yet?"

"Just," said Anakin. "He's here." He hunkered down before a pile of rags in the far corner.

The rags didn't move or twitch. The first time Anakin had seen Wess the one-time technician had already been verging on emaciation. Jammed into the corner with his knees drawn up, he now looked as corpse-like as his cell-mates. If the skinny chest rose and fell with breath, the movement was miniscule enough to be undetectable. Red-rimmed eyes didn't blink or flicker or show any reaction to the presence of others. Wess gave the appearance of a man who'd retreated so far into himself that there was no return. He was as good as dead.

Mid-curse, Sal crouched down beside Anakin and clicked his fingers before the vacant face. "Zarc! Hey Zarc, buddy. Wake up. C'mon. You in there?"

Nothing. No response.

Already grimy, sweaty and bloody, Sal scrubbed his face and shared a dark look with Anakin. "Crap! Don't tell me this whole thing has been a waste of time."

As he was struggling not to give into the same dark thoughts, Anakin shook his head. "No, I don't think so, but we don't have time to hang around and find out. We'll take him with us and decide how to rouse him when we get to the barrier control room."

Between them, they got the man out and over the rubble. Back in the tunnel, it only took a few moments to administer a stimulant and wrap the frail, limp figure in the silvery, plastifoil thermal blanket. Freyrr lifted the wasted man as easily as if he were a child.

The others were silent and antsy. Anakin could feel their disquiet over the state of their rescuee. While drawing up their plans no-one had stopped to consider the physical or mental condition of Wess. Anakin wanted to curse but kept them behind his teeth. They'd barely begun and already morale was shredding. It was definitely time to go.

~o~

Once again, Anakin took point. With the scout droid destroyed the only warning they would get of danger would be his Force-enhanced perceptions. It was only a few meters further in that those perceptions started to quiver. He stopped outside another sealed door and stiffened. Anakin could feel Sidious' presence so strongly it was as if his old master was seated inside and waiting for him. Hatred unfurled in his gut like poison serpents. The impression was so strong that even the urgency of getting to the surface before they were discovered didn't stop him from reaching out to the door mechanism to open it.

When the doors parted, Anakin's own face met his gaze.

It was a frozen life-sized holoimage of him moments before he made the desperate dive to follow Padmè into the third world.

Joining him in the doorway, Sal whistled when he saw the extent of the technology in the chamber. "Whoever stayed here liked his toys."

"It was Sidious. This is where he must have been hiding out."

"How can you tell?"

"I just can."

The others gathered in the doorway, but like Anakin and Sal, they didn't step inside. All eyes locked on the paused image—the start of it all. "Only a complete laserbrain would be dumb enough to chase a demon back to hell, and then follow it."

It was the female again and there was an equal mixture of derision and respect on her hard, bronze face. Anakin didn't disagree with her assessment and kept his reply simple. "It wasn't the Narzgh I was interested in."

The others were looking at him too and he could sense their unease. He had good reason to know that bounty hunters were a hardened, ruthless bunch with a distinct inability to trust. With everything that had happened, his denouement as Vader had been swept aside. Now it hovered between them as they paused to mull over what type of man could have gone to hell and then returned—only the Narzgh were able to rip apart the veil between the two worlds.

He had no answer to give them. Briefly, he wondered if that was the real reason why he'd been sent to the second world instead of being consigned to the third, as Vader surely deserved. Perhaps someone somewhere had known that Vader would have clawed his way out of that hell anyway—just like Sidious.

Was he merely the lesser of two evils?

"_Did you really think that you could redeem yourself? Get back all that you lost because you threw it away?_

Reaching out again, he resealed the door and turned away. "Let's go."

o~o~o

The surface point they'd picked was the sublevel of a droid manufacturing plant deep into the utility and industrial sector known simply as UTILIND. Not only was it the closest one to the barrier generator, but it also benefited from being mostly automated. The theory being that less humans would mean less Narzgh to prey on them. Once out of the tunnels, the surviving team members spread out, creeping soundlessly between snaking production lines filled with partially built droids. There was no power, hence no lighting, but, thanks to the light from their glow rods, they could see that the décor was stark white: walls, floor and ceiling.

With the power off the turbolifts weren't working. Over to the right, Vlad signalled that he'd found a stairwell. Anakin passed the message on and they all cautiously made their way over. If the tension in the tunnels had been high, it was nothing to the state of alert they were suffering now. The silence hummed with that tension. They were in the hot zone and surrounded by hundreds of thousands of the enemy. Anakin could smell the sweat of fear that lay heavy in the air as they moved up from one level to the next. Nine flights of stairs later, they reached the ground floor. The stairs opened onto a circular reception area that was as sleekly sterile as the production areas several floors below it. Or had been.

The reception had been manned by humans. The sweeping arc of a gleaming reception desk was smeared with blood and puddles of effluvia lay drying on the floor under a trio of naked bodies hanging by tensile silver threads from the ceiling. The artwork they replaced lay shattered in a thousand glass fragments under their dangling feet. The eyes had been pecked clean from the sockets and their mouths were gaping in silent, agonised screams—and that was just the face.

Expecting to see such horrific sights was no preparation for actually seeing it. Nobody said a word as they skirted the gruesome display with their gazes firmly averted. Anakin concentrated on what he could sense coming from beyond the battered and twisted doors that had obviously been forced open from the outside—malevolence and mindless terror fogged almost everything else. Almost.

Skin prickling, Anakin crouched only half a meter from the doors and raised his hand with his fingers spread, bringing the teams to a halt. Everyone froze. "They're outside. They know we're here." His tone was low but it carried enough to be heard by all. "They're waiting for us."

Even way down below in the sub-levels they'd been able to hear the cannon fire. "Let's hope our air support makes it through the automated defences," said Sal feelingly.

o~o~o

Padmè had chosen a closed canopy speeder. It was a fast, sleek beauty that was reminiscent of a Jedi starfighter. Her hands on the controls were steady, competent and more than a little reckless. She didn't need a thousand credit therapist to tell her why she'd chosen a craft with such a strong visual connection with both her own and Anakin's past. Not that she had time or the inclination to analyse it herself now. Cannon fire streaked past close enough to dazzle and blind.

It only took a few minutes to get from the Outer Rim to the UTILIND sector and they'd lost two of the others already to the auto defence system. Junga Roth contained a dozen defence towers all topped by a turret and turbolaser. The turbolasers were powerful, but slow and clumsy against small targets despite its automated track and fire system. If the city came under attack fighters would normally be scrambled to cover this deficiency. This defence system had done such a good job of protecting the city in the past that the Falleen ship was the first planet-borne attack for almost a century.

Now it was being used against Roth's own citizens who were trying to save it from going to hell.

In the unnatural darkness the explosions caused when the lasers hit a target or missed and caught a building lit up the sky. Padmè and the other speeders jigged and juked down aerial alleyways created by the city's tallest towers. The close calls were too numerous to count. Prayers were mumbled through tight lips and sweat popped out on Padmè's skin when the closest turret spat more death. She had to roll, overshooting the turret and then braked hard right to avoid the crisscrossing laser of the northeast turret.

Despite the tight life or death manoeuvring, her voice was brisk when she spoke into the comm link. It was important to her that no-one listening would be able to tell just how much of a wreck she felt. "The Starserver droid factory is directly ahead. Activate your power cells now and form up in a standard 'V' formation. First sweep will commence in ten seconds. Remember, DO NOT waste power and keep an eye on your energy gauges."

"Ten…"

Next to Padmè a remarkably pasty-looking Lorne unclenched his hands from the front console he'd been bracing himself against and flipped the switch that activated their own power cell, muttering, "I hope these are frisky bunny batteries, princess, 'cause I don't fancy our chances if we run out of juice."

The first six speeders formed with Padmè on the left tip. "Nine, eight, seven, six…"

She flicked her eyes at Lorne with a desperate question in their depths. Reading it easily, he scoured the street below and ahead of them and answered her, "I don't see them yet, but that doesn't mean they aren't close. It's black as pitch down there—hell, I could be missing a rock festival in full swing it's so dark. They sent the signal."

Yes, the teams had sent the signal when they were getting close to the exit point. She'd been telling herself the same thing but had hoped for some visual confirmation for added reassurance.

"Three, two, one. Fire them up!"

Six bright beams of UV light cut a swathe through the darkness and swept along the wide walkway fronting the droid factory.

o~o~o

After the unremitting darkness of the tunnels and the unceasing night that blanketed the Core, the intense UV light was blinding. The transparisteel front of the droid plant was no protection against the sudden blaze of white light; it was like a physical blow to the eyeballs. Slamming his eyelids shut in instinctive defence, Anakin raised his free hand as a shield and risked opening them again. The UV light swept by leaving shrieking columns of fire in its wake. The Narzgh that had been lying in wait had been caught by the UV and literally hundreds of them were now stumbling around in agony from the consuming flames.

It took a heartbeat to sink in. The plan was working and they were just squatting there!

Anakin surged to his feet, yelling, "Move, Move, Move! Time to go."

With his lightsaber gripped in his left hand, he charged through the exit in the lead. The bright blue of his blade claimed is first kill before he'd taken two steps. Still licked with hungry flame the Narzgh's head hit the ground, and on the same swing, Anakin bisected a second. Sal and Freyrr, with the Wookiee hindered by having to carry Wess, were directly behind him. The other four followed on their heels.

Battle commenced. There were too many Narzgh to have all been caught in the first fly-by and they swarmed, howling, towards the twenty strong group. All but Anakin were armed with heavy-duty, repeating blaster rifles, modified to hold a miniature version of the UV lamps. Blaster fire peppered into the oncoming wall of blackened, corrupted flesh, but it was the sizzling agony of the UV beams that caused the demons to falter. Anakin was kept busy with his lightsaber. There were too many for finesse, he was simply hacking and slashing at a speed that even the Narzgh struggled to keep up with. Still, claws raked his clothes and slashed at his face and neck. They were better armed than the Narzgh but were vastly outnumbered. For every ten he cut down another twenty took their place.

Anakin heard a human scream and felt his heart sink. He had to force himself not to check who it was that had fallen, afraid that it would be Sal.

The second fly-by came not a moment too soon. One second they were fighting in pitch blackness and the next they were bathed in light so intense that everything turned white. The Narzgh around them began to shriek and scream, scrabbling to escape as their skin melted and flesh burned.

"Run!" Anakin bellowed. No one needed telling twice.

They pelted down the steps and towards the courtyard that fronted the manufacturing plant. With all of the burning corpses littering the area, illumination was no longer a problem even once the speeders had passed. They'd memorised the route and reached the two meter long subway that would bring them out into a warren of ground-level open-air walkways that mapped the city's largest power plant like veins in a body. The barrier generator was located on the north west annex of the power plant.

Skidding to a halt on the near side of the subway, Anakin let the others pass him, counting the survivors and relieved that both Sal and Freyrr were among them. Seven had made it. They'd lost almost two third of their original number, but there was no time for sorrow. More Narzgh were streaming after them, swarming, slithering and loping after their escaping prey. About to follow behind the Chiss who was limping but otherwise whole, Anakin's eyes widened when he felt a sonic boom and saw a speeder—obviously hit by the continuing cannon fire and trailing smoke—streaking through the dark sky and heading right for them.

Cursing, he lunged into the subway and reached deep inside for every drop of speed. Vlad, slowed by his injury, was in his way so he simply picked him up under his armpits and took the Chiss with him.

The burning speeder chased them down the subway, a fiery inferno that bounced along behind them, bringing heat and flame to lick warningly at their backs. Anakin and Vlad just made it to the end in time to dive to the right as the speeder roared past. A meter away, the speeder finally crashed into one of the power plant's heat dispersal towers and exploded. Using the Force, Anakin managed to shield them both from the resulting shockwave while smoking, red-hot debris rained all around them.

Once he was sure it was safe, Anakin regained his feet and staggered when his head swam. His ears were still ringing and he shook his head to try and clear it. A quick glance at the speeder confirmed that the pilot was toast and beyond all hope of help. He reached down and helped the Chiss to his feet. "We need to get moving and catch up with the others."

"I'll slow you down. You go on ahead," Vlad said through gritted teeth as he hobbled beside him. Sweat ran in rivulets down his chiselled and blue-skinned face and dripped from sodden black hair.

Instead of answering, Anakin threaded his left arm through the humanoid's and around his back, both supporting and lifting him, saying, "The Narzgh won't be long behind us. If it hurts just suck it up. Pain is better than death."

Their speed increased significantly with Anakin taking most of Vlad's weight. Ignoring the Chiss' groans and calling on the Force with almost as much abandon as Sidious, Anakin got them both to the muster point a block away from the barrier generator. The survivors of their two teams were waiting for them, along with a barrage of blaster bolts coming from the stairwell that lead, via a defence bunker, to the barrier control room.

The others were hunkered down and plastered behind whatever cover they could find. Anakin and Vlad flung themselves behind the dubious safety of a permacrete building that jutted out of the walkway. Sal, battered and bloodied, but alive, looked immensely relieved to see Anakin.

"Droids," he confirmed grimly, "Lots of them and, considering they're where we want to go, I don't think dropping the building on top of their metal heads is an option."

"Whatever move we're going to make has to be soon." Anakin jutted his chin at the distant bright beams of light that were getting closer and closer. The speeders were still doing their job of keeping the demons hopping in a literal sense. "The Narzgh are on their way."

"Figures," sighed Sal, "And, just to keep the bad news coming—Zarc's coming around and he ain't making much sense. I don't think Freyrr's furry face is exactly soothing his mind, y'know."

Anakin spared only a brief glance at the agitated bundle of silver restrained in the enormous arms of the Wookiee. "I'll worry about him when we get to the barrier control room. First we have to get in there."

"Good point. Any particular strategies coming to mind?"

Anakin flashed the pilot a feral grin. "One or two."

o~o~o

The speeders were no longer being harried by the cannons now that they were deep into the UTILIND sector of the city. Padmè guessed that whoever was in charge didn't want to risk the barrier generator getting damaged, a reminder that destroying it would be an option if plan A failed. For that very reason she'd scrutinised the plans contained within Ceetee's memory banks. If it came to last resorts then she knew exactly where to aim her speeder for maximum damage. For now though, she kept up her sweeps and nagged Lorne to keep his eyes peeled for Anakin as well as monitoring their energy gauge.

No matter how busy and distracted she was though, she _needed_ to know that Anakin was alright.

On her left, Lorne suddenly shifted and pressed his face to the canopy viewer. "Whoa! I think I've just hit the jackpot. There's a flashing blue stick at 11'o'clock. That's got to be our boy. Looks like he did make it through the subway okay."

"Eleven a what?"

Lorne sliced her an impatient glance, "Never mind. He's there." So saying he jabbed a finger in the direction he wanted her to look. "And, judging by the blizzard of red flashes, I reckon he's got more than Narzgh trouble heaping his overfull plate."

o~o~o

The walkway was thick with blaster bolts from both sides with a single man dodging from scant cover to scant cover and seemingly oblivious of being in danger. One side was trying to kill him and the other desperately attempting to provide cover fire. "That is one crazy, reckless sonofabantha," said Jazz. "If this is his idea of strategy then I'd hate to see his version of flying by the seat of his pants."

"Strategy my ass!" growled Sal. Sweat was stinging his eyes but he couldn't even spare the time to wipe it away. He was far too busy trying to keep a certain lunatic friend alive. It wasn't easy considering that every time he downed one of the metal monsters another two would take its place. The barrier control room was obviously infested with the damned things—not a happy thought.

Narzgh and droids equalled a rock and a hard place, and time was running out _way_ too fast.

They were inching their way closer too, but at a good distance behind Anakin. Vlad had his blaster rifle fitting snugly into his shoulder. Firing with a calm precision that belied the flurry of red laser bolts peppering all around them, he said, "You've got to hand it to him though. He's almost there."

The Chiss bounty hunter wasn't wrong. The blaster fire from the bunker abruptly ceased as the droids made a tactical decision of their own and retreated inside, sealing the door behind them. Breaking into a sprint, Sal watched as Anakin reached the bunker, stepped over droid carcasses scattered in front of the entrance, ripped off the door control panel on one side and began to fiddle. It took only moments for the door security to be overridden and slide apart again. Instantly a fresh flurry of laser fire erupted from inside, forcing Sal and the others to dive to the ground to avoid being hit.

Sprawled on his front, Sal opened his mouth to yell just as Anakin sucked in a deep breath, crouched low and then lunged inside the bunker. Alone. _The kriffing idiot!_

"Let's move!" Scrambling to his feet, Sal sprinted, along with others, for the bunker.

The first thing they saw was that Anakin was battling with a lightsaber-wielding Narzgh whilst fending off laser bolts from the remaining droids. The second was that the Narzgh had once been female. With their arrival, the droids were forced to switch their attention and once again, Sal found himself in an up close and personal firefight with two meter tall, metal monoliths.

He had to be as crazy as Anakin he realised.

Hunkering down behind a control console, Sal waited for a pause in the barrage to risk popping his head up and returning fire. The first droid was so damned close that he could feel the heat of his blaster fire melt alloy and circuits. Then the freakin' thing fell almost on top of him. The others were equally as busy. He risked a glance at Anakin just as his friend fended off a decapitated droid head that had been catapulted at him by an unseen force. The clash of the two lightsabers was the scariest light show that Sal had ever seen.

o~o~o

The vortex was massive and already sucking in loose debris. The size of it was the reason behind Sidious choosing a different location to last time. He'd suspected that trying to create a second wormhole in the same place too soon would risk it being unstable. Indulging his penchant for height, he'd chosen the decorative and useless observation tower of the palace. Ignoring the buffetting his body was receiving from the vortex, he forced it to begin stabilising. He was already receiving impressions from the Living. Soon, Thimram would begin his own little project and then Sidious would be able to make the necessary wormhole to create a bridge. Soon. Very, very soon.

The second interruption had rage roaring through his veins. Despite this his voice was as cold as ice. "I said I was not to be disturbed."

"Forgive the intrusion, but I think you may need to hear this." The words were precise and a contrast to the rough, almost guttural rasp of the voice that spoke them. "The intruders have now reached the barrier control room and the latest droid report indicates that they are proving to be a serious threat. Our kind are being driven back by the use of UV weapons and are finding it difficult to engage them. The intruders may very well breach our security and reach the barrier."

Sidious stiffened and he swivelled his head to view the ruined visage gazing passively back at him. This creature's presence troubled him, especially now. Yet, no matter how deep he probed he could not find so much as glimmer of the person the Narzgh had once been. "There is something else," he realised. "What are you not telling me?"

"More than one source is reporting that these intruders include a Jedi amongst their number."

"That is not possible. Skywalker has already been taken care of."

The blackened, deformed head dipped an acknowledgement. "As you say, but perhaps the situation has changed."

"Impossible," Sidious repeated, but the news had awakened a deep sense of unease. Vader would have had the necessary strength to escape the third world, but not this weak, mewling version that craved redemption. Still … a Jedi! "Blow the bunker," he snapped. "If they can't get to the barrier then they are no longer a threat. Do not delay. Have it done now."

"As you wish."

The Narzgh turned with a swish of a dark, concealing cloak and strode swiftly to the observation chamber exit. Outside in the antechamber, he was met with a trio of super battle droids.

"What are our new orders?" demanded one of the droids.

"There are no new orders," grated the Narzgh. "Your existing instructions to defend the palace and this tower still stand. Return to your positions."

Like mindless recruits doing drills, they turned to do as they were bidden. Of course, the droids were too stupid to realise that he was lying. The thing that had once been Sar Dooku would have smiled if he had any lips left to form such an expression. He strode over to the turbo lift and mulled over his betrayal. Sidious realising that he had been disobeyed did not concern him. The Sith lord was far too consumed with this attempt to return to the living, and that ambition blinded him. Dooku was content to wait for the battle to come to him. He had waited a long time for a day of reckoning—on two fronts—and it appeared to him to have finally arrived.

Let Skywalker return the barrier to its original purpose, he mused. The palace had been built to keep out the inconvenient heat of the sun. There were many places where direct sunlight did not reach and he, Dooku, would be waiting when the old master and replacement apprentice met once again.

TBC


	19. Chapter 21

UNSIGNED REVIEW REPLIES

MAGGIE – Thank you so much. It's a huge relief to me to know that you don't think the story has suffered with my muse issues *g*

KIBU2U – Wow! You completely made day with such a lovely review. Thank you, thank you for taking the time to let me know how much you're enjoying the story. It really does make a huge difference to read a review that someone has taken the time to post—it's sort of like great Italian coffee for the muse, lol.

**In fact, I want to give another general, warm shout-out to my reviewers and the support you've offered after I posted about my muse problem. You can thank yourselves for the speed I managed to write this chapter. HUGS!**

CHAPTER NOTES:

(1) Just to warn you that I've deliberately veered off accepted format for story writing in this chapter. I've done this because (I hope) that having a montage of different POV adds some pace and a sense of urgency to this penultimate chapter. I'm just praying that it doesn't make you dizzy, lol.

(2) Credit to Wookieepedia for the information on thermal grenades and lightsaber techniques such as Djem So, Shien and Makashi.

(3) I also have to give a nod to the novelisation of ROTS by Matthew Stover for some inspiration for the lightsaber scene.

(4) YAY! There is only one more post to go after this one I hope, including the final chapter, a substantial epilogue and some further mini epilogues if my muse co-operates.

**Chapter Twenty One**

It was like watching a fluid, acrobatic and yet vicious dance. Such noisy petty lights thought Wess to himself. The swirling, twirling, clashing blue and red lights were so bright that he had to blink. There were other lights, streaks of red that he ignored along with the frantic yells. The stink of fried flesh, melted circuits and icy sweat hit the back of his throat. The sweat was probably his own he realised dimly. He'd sweated blood more than once recently. Rather than remember any of that, he locked his eyes on the tall, lean man fighting the Narzgh. Zarc knew him, he was sure he did. He wracked his broken mind for the name to go with the familiar figure. The memory of bright blue eyes in a grim, young face flashed briefly. A pretty boy to go with the pretty light. Not so the Narzgh. Beauty and the beast in a battle to the death. He giggled at the thought, rocking back and forth in his silver wrapper.

Zarc Wess was tucked into a corner with a huge, brown-furred Wookiee squatting in front of him. In some tiny portion of his brain he realised that he was in a pitch battle, but he couldn't find it in him to care overmuch. Anything was better than where he'd been. Besides, he wanted to watch beauty cleave the beast clean in two.

Back and forth, slash, slash, twirl, chop, kick. So fast, it was all so fast. Wess couldn't take his eyes off them. He'd never seen anything like it. Unbelievably, the slighter human was more than holding his own. There no pauses and no mercy. Bizarrely, the fury of the fight that pulsed so perceptibly through the bunker was absent from the youthful features of the man. He simply blocked, countered and attacked with a smooth power that was utterly mesmerising. The blessedly black pit of nothingness in Zarc's mind yawed temptingly wide, but he resisted the lure of numb peace in favour of watching this incredible spectacle. What was pretty boy's name? He searched his splintered memory. The name, he knew it. He just had to find it. The answer floated up from the murk of his subconscious and he snatched at it—Skywalker. That was it!

Skywalker had wanted to know about the rain barrier too. A streak of pure gut-clenching fear shot through Wess. He mustn't think about the barrier—couldn't. His hands crept up to cover his ears and he rocked harder. It wasn't his fault. _I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry._ A sob burned in his throat and his eyes welled up. He'd tried not to tell, but the pain and fear had gotten to be too much. _Don't think about it_. Watch Skywalker kill the Narzgh. Zarc locked bony arms around bony knees and rocked faster and faster, chanting silently. Kill it. Kill it. Kill it.

o~o~o

Fighting to be heard over the sounds of heated battle, a voice came over multiple com links. "_This is Sun Leader to both ground teams. Over. Be warned that your position is about to be overrun. Thousands of Narzgh are headed straight for you and coming from multiple directions. We're out of power so we can't help you. You only have minutes. Over._

The voice was female and the warning was repeated twice more and with increasing urgency. That voice was oddly familiar too. Zarc's view of the strange duel-of-light was suddenly blocked by Sal Trent as the pilot recklessly broke cover to fire a triple blast at the last of the droids. The droid toppled just as the voice issued the warning for the third time. Panting and grime-covered, Sal snatched his com-link off his belt and snarled into it, "Kriffing great. We finally manage to get here and then run out of time! Over and out."

On the far side of the bunker, a length of waist-thick and still sparking conduit ripped free and lashed itself at Skywalker who was standing half way up the stairs to the upper floor. Zarc held his breath as Skywalker sliced the conduit in two, ducked under the fiery ends and raised his hand towards the snarling Narzgh, palm flat and purposeful. There was a good half a meter between the two combatants, yet the Narzgh flew backwards as if propelled by an immensely powerful hand. It crashed into a control console hard enough to crush the reinforced permaplas and, before it could recover, was hit by a hail of blaster fire.

Being peppered by energy bolts that would have cut a humanoid to ribbons only seemed to anger it. Skywalker made a graceful leap to the ground and renewed his assault. The light swords clashed three times while the Narzgh was still off balance—then Skywalker twisted his grip and reversed his sword's direction. The red light vanished as a clawed hand was severed at the wrist, accompanied by the maddened howl of the now defenceless demon. The howl was silenced in the next instant as its head went sailing through the air.

After the cacophony of battle, the silence of victory was surreally shocking and lasted two beats before Sal broke it. "In case you missed it in the melee. That was Padmè. She says we've only got minutes left to fix the barrier."

A strange, arrested expression crossed Skywalker's face and he froze, then his jaw tightened to white and a muscle began to tick. His blue eyes blazed as he stared at Sal. "Padmè?" he repeated, harshly.

"Yeah," said Sal, with a grimace. "Hey! Don't look at me. I'm as clueless as you on that one. However, can we celebrate sleeping beauty waking up later? Right now we need to concentrate on the imminent danger she's predicting."

As if on queue all eyes swung Zarc's way and finally it dawned on him why he'd been rescued and brought there. The barrier. It was always the barrier.

"Get him up to the control room," instructed Skywalker to the Wookiee, "We'll follow behind you." There was a muted roar and the next moment Zarc found himself elevated to a height that was far greater than his usual even when standing, and rushed towards the stairs.

o~o~o

The defence bunker was directly attached to the control room of the barrier. The complex also housed most of the generator plant and so was a sprawling, intricate maze. It was also only two levels high—hence the lack of turbolift. Skywalker stood back to let the others follow the immense figure of the Wookiee up the stairs, obviously intending to take up the rear.

Hardly understanding the impulse herself, Jazz remained where she was. As did Vlad and the two Durosian brothers called Zhug—she forgot their first names. "You go on up," she told Skywalker bluntly. "We'll buy you some more time from down here."

She was light-headed with exhaustion and aching all over, and was in no mood for sentimentality. When she saw Skywalker's brows snap together she guessed he was going to argue. To save time and effort she cut him dead. "You know it makes sense, and if you can't see it then we're all dead anyway. You've _got_ to get that barrier reconfigured," she reminded him. "And, the only way those sonsabantha's can get to you is through this dump. We can delay them—maybe give you a minute or two extra—time you're wasting right now." Hefting the heavy FG-11 repeating blaster she favoured, Jazz cocked her hip and quirked a challenging brow. "So, I recommend that you move your butt up there and leave us to it."

For a fraction of a second his eyes brightened and a smile tugged at full lips. Not for the first time, Jazz found it freakin' unbelievable that the scourge of the galaxy was so damned pretty and _young_.

Then his frown cleared and he merely nodded before turning away and mounted the stairs two at a time.

Vlad and the Zhurg brothers were looking at her with a waiting air when she turned to them. "Let's lock it down as tight as we can. The longer it takes them to get in the better. We'll use anything not bolted down as a barricade and then find some cover."

Jazz went over to the door control herself, sought and found the lockout code for the outside panel, then started hauling debris to build up a physical barricade. The droid parts came in damned useful. While she worked, fear tried to take a hold and that pissed her off more than anything else. In life she'd never felt fear, but then she'd only ever been looking after herself. This throwing herself into the path of certain death was new—like the fear. Her lips compressed and a muscle ticked in her jaw. Screw it! Maybe it was time to stop treading water. Maybe, it was time to find out if she'd done enough to cancel out the ruthless, cold-hearted bitch she'd been. If nothing else, a little self-sacrifice could only help. Dryly, she wondered if self sacrifice still counted if it was done for self-serving reasons. She gave a mental shrug. Dying was the only way to get that answer.

"Move out the way a moment," said Vlad in a strained voice. "Let me jam this in and then I think we're as ready as we're going to be." He'd used his vibroblade to slice off some air ducting. It wasn't the flexible kind, but made of blast proof heavy-duty plexisteel. If it was positioned right, it would help support the rest of the barricade.

"Good one." Jazz nodded her approval of his initiative and stood back to survey their handiwork with her hands on her hips. "At least they won't be able to just walk in."

o~o~o

"We don't have time for this!" Hunkering down, Anakin grabbed Wess' lower face in his hand, forcing those skittering eyes to focus on him. "It doesn't matter that you've been through hell, so have others. Thousands have _died_ and more will soon join them if you don't do your job and fix the barrier."

Whimpering, Wess cringed tighter into a foetal ball on the metal grating of the control room. He looked pathetic, useless and broken. Anakin reached deep inside for patience, releasing his grip and softening the harshness of his voice. "You once told me that you wanted the screaming in your head to stop, well now's your chance—and the screaming isn't just in your head, but everyone's. You're the only one with the knowledge to do this quickly. I don't have time to try and figure it out." He tried one last appeal. "You can end this nightmare and kill most of the Narzgh in one fell swoop."

"You'll be a hero," cajoled Sal from the technician's other side.

"The Narzgh die in sunlight. It's why they needed the barrier changed. Let's give them sun and end this," added Anakin.

"Before they get here and end us," muttered Sal, earning a glare from Anakin.

Wess' stubble-covered head lifted and some of the glaze left his eyes. One thing had got through and it was as if a switch had been flicked in his mind—bringing along a hint of sanity. "All Narzgh will die?" he croaked. The sound of his own voice sent a quiver through that emaciated frame. He sought Anakin's face, searching. "You sure 'bout that?"

Anakin knew that some of the Narzgh would find shade from direct sunlight, but their numbers would still be greatly reduced. However, now wasn't the time for the time to quibble over details. "I'm sure," he said, injecting confidence into his reply.

After a pause while he mulled it over, Wess tried to straighten and only slumped harder when his wasted body failed to support him. "Help me up," he said. "I like dead Narzgh."

Sal and Anakin hooked an arm under each of Wess' and together all three men rose.

Wess' red-rimmed gaze skimmed knowledgably over the power generation and control plant that stretched for a whole block. "You'll have to do everything I say in the exact sequence I tell you."

Freyrr took Anakin's place as support so that he could step away. "Fire away, and get it right. We'll only get the one shot at this."

"To reconfigure the settings, we have shut off the safety protocols that prevent tampering at each of the six control panels. Then reprogram them through specific rerouting procedures in the correct sequence, shut down and then restart."

Anakin blinked at the lucidity of that explanation, then realised that for Wess anything to do with this technology was as ingrained as the need to breathe. "Where are the control panels?"

Wess nodded to a small, sealed container about the size of a human head directly in front of them. "There's your first one, and it'll be locked."

"Physical locks aren't a problem," said Anakin. He moved directly to the panel and waved a hand to demonstrate. The panel cover slid back instantly.

o~o~o

Jazz hated waiting, always had and always would. Every second seemed to stretch into an hour. When the unmistakable sounds of blasters hitting the sealed door finally came, she was almost relieved—almost. Even she wasn't crazy enough to be glad that the Narzgh had come'a'knockin'.

"Here they come, and it sounds like the demonslime have got their claws on some weaponry." Rolling her shoulders to loosen them, Jazz adjusted her rifle and checked her sights. "Wait until they come through to start shooting. We don't want to give them any help."

Nearby, Vlad picked up his com-link to signal Skywalker and the others. "Our unwelcome visitors have arrived and started knocking," he said into it, finishing off dryly, "So, you might want to get your jets on."

The tension in the little bunker had already been high, but it went stratospheric when smoking black circles started to form in the dull grey of the door.

"They're not using standard blasters," said Vlad. "No way would such a small energy weapon get through reinforced alloy so quick. They've got themselves some serious artillery there."

Jazz agreed with a grunt. One minute tops and then they'd be in deep poodoo.

The barrage from outside seemed to intensify further. It became difficult to track the swiftly expanding deterioration that soon became super-heated holes. Plasma discharge, scorched metal and the rank stench of demon was soon chokingly strong. Jazz had to wipe at streaming eyes before charging up the UV attachment on her rifle. She tried not to notice that the gauge at the lamps base suggested she was critically low on charge.

A blackened arm raked through the largest hole, ignoring the burning sizzle of its own flesh on the red-hot ring. Jazz held her fire, as did the others. It was only seconds until the accumulated holes became one large enough for the first Narzgh to scramble through and charge. Jazz let it have it—UV and a few blaster bolts for good measure.

It went down writhing in agony and screaming inhumanly. The only thing being that this particular demon had brought a few thousand pals along to share in the fun. Jazz kriffing hoped that barrier was nearly fixed! Peeling back her own lips in an impressive snarl, she got to her feet and kept her finger pressed down on the trigger. What in Chaos was the use of cover when they were about to be mowed down by the damned things? Vlad and the two Zhurgs joined her.

o~o~o

After Vlad's report, Wess had been propped up sufficiently so that he could support himself, allowing Sal and Freyrr to assume defensive positions at the top of the access stairwell. Sweat popped out on Anakin's skin at the sounds that filtered up from the bunker one meagre level below them. Wess' voice was so strangled with terror as he gave instructions that Anakin feared the Tec's mind was going to snap on them again—before they got the barrier settings changed. He was on the fifth control panel now and the frustrating thing was that each one required individual programming to allow for minute angle differentials. Keying in the final code, he whirled to the last panel and slammed the cover aside with a too powerful Force-Push.

"Careful!" shrieked Wess. "This technology is delicate."

A long, hair-raising and wailing scream from the bunker rent the air. "Just give me the codes," snapped Anakin. At the top of the stairwell, Freyrr and Sal found themselves suddenly busy as a seething mass of ravenous hatred came boiling up from the bunker below. "We got company," yelled Sal.

Wess reeled off the codes and Anakin keyed them in with his fingers flying blurringly fast over the keys. Once the tamper-inhibitors were removed, they went straight into the reprogramming. Halfway through, Anakin heard the unmistakable sound of a body slithering across a hard floor and looked down. Wess was dragging himself across the floor with his hands, inch by agonising inch. The one-time genius technician was breathless as he gave Anakin the final code. Tension ravaged Anakin as he keyed it in. "Now what!"

Close by, they heard a wild, unmistakably Wookiee roar that held the distinct notes of a reckless battle-cry. The intensity of the battle raging within a few feet was energising to say the least. Wess had finally managed to reach his destination and hauled himself up. He pointed to a lever that was just out of his reach. "Pull that down and above it is a covered button. Depress that _after_ the lever."

Sal stumbled into view just to their right, yelling hoarsely and firing back the way he'd come. There was no sign of Freyrr.

Body humming with fraught tension, Anakin followed Wess' instructions. "Is that it?"

Slumping tiredly, Wess nodded. "That's it. Now we wait and see if it worked."

"Screw waiting!" Anakin's lightsaber was in his hand and activated before he'd finished speaking. Three strides took him past Sal and headed straight for the Narzgh streaming up from the stairwell.

o~o~o

The third world was a wasteland, a true hell, and the second was a mere echo of life—not like the living universe. Tremors of anticipation afflicted the deformed limbs of the figure silhouetted against the large, gleaming circle of unnatural light it faced. The wormhole was complete and the bridge between the living and the dead nearly so. Sidious could already feel the pulsing vitality created by the sheer mass of living, growing organisms—could almost taste it.

The giddy clamour of his inhuman senses sent his thoughts whirling.

He was minutes away from achieving what no one else had ever done, returning as a physical being from the netherworlds. Every sentient who set eyes on him would quake with fear and know that they faced a being that even death could not defeat. Sidious was more powerful dead than he had been alive. Once again he would prove the Jedi to be craven fools, and all thanks to their '_chosen one_'. In attempting to tear him down, Vader had in fact provided the opportunity for Sidious to build himself up even stronger. He was no longer just Sith, but Sith-Narzgh. He would hold the power of life and death in a way never before dreamed of, even by the Sith lords.

No pathetic upstart of a Jedi would ever dare challenge him again. His power would be unparalleled. Sidious would be able to shape the galaxy—no the universe—to his own personal design. There would be no more mercy, concessions or false benevolence, that decision was already made. Billions of species would bend to his will without compromise or he would deal with them personally. His hunger for that ambition to be realised surprised even Sidious. It hummed in his blood like a physical entity.

Meanwhile, greater and heavier pieces of debris were being sucked inexorably towards the wormhole, so much so that Sidious was forced to shield himself from collisions. He was so immersed in the birth pains of his bridge to life, power and glory that he failed to notice the first cold nip of warning. Not until that warning started to snap and crackle around the edges of consciousness.

Such strong intuitions could not be ignored. Sidious' concentration slipped. With no other choice, he reluctantly pulled away from his phenomenal creation and reached out with the Force, trying to locate the source of the disturbance. He didn't have to look far.

The top of the tower was a transparisteel dome and it was this incredible view of the city that had drawn the Sith Lord to this location. The view now caused his eyes to go wide with shock. Like the inexorable onrush of a tsunami, light was flooding towards the palace—racing towards him with the speed of a supernova—and every bit as deadly. Sunlight. The instinct to survive speared through the shock. Abandoning the wormhole, Sidious flew towards the small, discreet bank of controls that was positioned between the turbolift and the central ventilation shaft.

o~o~o

It was killing her to put on a serene confident mask. Waiting with only scant, limited reports to provide clues as to the progress of the mission was a torment like nothing Obonè had ever suffered before. Jester had left hours ago and left her in charge of his operational centre, or, more likely, kept her there to stop her getting underfoot at the arena. The son of a bantha!

The reports had been so sparse that they'd resorted to monitoring the com chatter as the hours passed. So many dead thought Obonè despairingly. Of the seventeen speeders sent out to defend the ground teams, only four had survived, and gods knew how many of the two ground teams were still alive. How can they possibly win this? There had been some tiny relief in hearing that a few team members had made it to the barrier generator, but then Padmè's warning had come! That was when true despair had set in. How could there possibly be enough time to do what had to be done, supposing anyone lived to do it?

Yet, they need to win this. There can be no second place—no compromise. Obi-Wan had been clear on that.

Obonè was so wrapped up in her dark thoughts that the technician trying to gain her attention had to call her twice. "M'am, you really need to hear this."

"Hear what?"

"We're getting an oral transmission from Jester at the arena, M'am."

Obonè's stomach plunged and she felt herself start to sway. It was over. Please, no! Please, please, no!

"Identify yourself," she demanded.

"This is Jester. You can quit your worryin'. The barrier is back to normal. I repeat. The barrier is back to normal. Narzgh are fryin' all over the Core and I'm told it's a fine and pretty sight."

A storm of cheers and wild clapping greeted the news. Some got up to find and hug friends and comrades. In the midst of all the celebrating, Obonè stood stock still. After so many hours of having every hope shredded to nothing, she couldn't take it in. _Was this a dream? Her mind attempting to give her one last moment of peace before hell took over?_ Shakily, she leaned over to make a reply, "Jester, this Obonè. Are you sure about the barrier?"

"Absolutely, I have eyes in the sky and they're telling me what's what. They damn well did it!"

Thanks gods! She closed her eyes. "Do we know who lived?"

"I don't have that information yet, but I'll know more soon. We're going to do a scan of the UTILIND sector to see if we can pick up any survivors. That's was their last known position. Skywalker was plannin' to go on up the palace, and we don't know if he's survived to do it. We need to find out. This ain't over," he warned her.

o~o~o

After so long in the darkness, Padmè had been both dazzled and blinded when the sun had suddenly burst through. It was as if a curtain had been suddenly swept back to reveal the colourful and bright scenery it was hiding. The golden warmth of the sun had swept over the landscape almost faster than the eye could see. She'd expected to feel relief and joy if this moment came to pass, but she felt nothing of the kind and she couldn't join in with Lorne's unabashed cheer of celebration. Every thought was consumed with one question. Where were Anakin and the others? Had they made it?

Her hands shook as she guided the speeder lower and lower, until they were skimming dangerously close to the surface. She hoped that the shaking in her hands was the only outward sign of the maelstrom of her emotions. For the first time, she'd been certain that Anakin was going to die and the overwhelming grief had been crippling—a part of Padmè had even wondered if she would be able to live with it if he'd given his life for the mission. A little hysterically, she realised that, finally, she had an inkling of what might have driven Anakin all of those decades ago.

Please let them be alive, she prayed.

"Do you see them?" she asked Lorne, her voice tight with tension. She banked back around and performed a second sweep of the walkway and structures ringing the barrier generator. Unfortunately, the haze of smoke caused by multitudes of incinerated demons made visibility hazy and awkward at best. In every direction as far as the eye could see, the city streets resembled a battlefield scattered with charred remains and the ashes of the dead. More ash floated up on the breeze and threatened to choke up the speeder's air filters.

Padmè didn't care. She needed to see Anakin, Freyrr and Sal—needed to know they were safe.

"Nothing, yet, but I'm looking sweet cheeks. Don't fret, I'll holler the moment I see something."

The seconds ticked by, then, true to his word, Lorne let out a yell and pointed. "There! I see them—the terrible trio and a few others." He did a celebratory seat-of-his-pants-jig in his seat. "They just came out. They look a little worse for wear, but our brooding hero's luck has held."

"I see them too. Thank the gods they're okay." She laughed but there was no amusement in the too high sound. Overcome, her face crumpled before she managed to gain enough control to smooth it out again. He was alive! Freyrr and Sal too. Oh gods! _Oh gods!_ The relief Padmè now felt was almost as bad as the grief, and brought with it a heartrending epiphany that made her feel the worst a fool alive for ever doubting the truth. She didn't need to analyse her feelings anymore. She loved Anakin and could forgive him anything—but, she couldn't be with him.

No love, not even theirs, was worth even the smallest risk of him losing his soul a second time.

Tears slipped unheeded down her cheeks. She could, however, save him from himself this once. It was time to head for the palace. There was still Sidious to contend with and she was determined to reach him first. It was more important than ever. The constriction in her chest only tightened, and got tighter still when she steered away from the scene, and Anakin. She didn't reconsider though and throttled back for more speed. She'd gotten a glimpse of him and that was going to have to be enough.

Next to her, Lorne's expression went from joyful to bemused. "Erm. Where are we going, princess?" He jerked a thumb back the way they'd come. "Your beloved's back that'a'way."

"I have an appointment to keep," she told him. She refused to meet his gaze. "When we get there you can stay in the speeder. In fact, it would probably be safest for you if you did."

o~o~o

Sidious was already beginning to smoulder and smoke when he managed to set the shields to maximum and activate them, effectively blocking out the sun. Darkness returned to the tower, but it wasn't enough. The wormhole began to decay, shrinking and guttering in mid-air. Several frantic minutes later, he realised that there was nothing he could do to stabilise it. The power of the dark side was already waning without the enervating terror of a million-strong populace to tap into. Against all odds, against all _reason_, he realised that the barrier must have been reset, and as easily as that the Narzgh had been defeated. _He_ had been defeated.

His howl of unadulterated fury was accompanied by a lash of dark side power so strong that cracks appeared in the shielded, domed ceiling overhead—reminding him of Vader's reaction after being informed of Amidala's death. The comparison was a dash of icy water, returning his mind to sanity and reason.

Now was not the time to lose control.

Panting, Sidious whirled to pace, thinking furiously. He was slipping he mused darkly. He had allowed passion to enter the equation instead of using pure, cold logic. It was the demon in him, he realised, and a catastrophic mistake made a hundred times worse by his deteriorated ability to foretell the future—a mistake that he must come back from. _There had to be some way of reversing this loss of fortune!_ He wasn't done yet, not by far.

The unmistakable signal of an incoming holotransmission interrupted him and Sidious spun on his heel to return to the console and the transmission grid. He had already made numerous attempts to communicate with the droids, without success. Perhaps they were trying to contact him? Breathing raggedly, he reached out to accept the communication.

Seeing the holo-image of the demon that had once been his Sith apprentice, Lord Tyranus, made Sidious' amber eyes narrow to slits. "Ah, now I begin to understand," he rasped. "Revenge, Dooku?"

"If you wish to call it such. I prefer the term _reckoning_ myself."

"You fool," Sidious hissed. Fury had his claws tightening, digging into the permaplast of the console he was gripping. "Look at what you've done. I told you to destroy that bunker. If you had we would not now be decimated to a mere few and trapped in whatever dark holes we can find."

"The fate of the rest of our kind does not concern me. I decided it was not in _my_ best interests for you to achieve your aims, so I neglected to relay the order that the bunker be destroyed. I've waited a long time for this reunion, _master_!"

"I would congratulate you," sneered Sidious, infuriated. "Except that by betraying me you have destroyed yourself. You have gone insane, my old friend."

"Not quite," disagreed Dooku. "Although that is the natural state of the demons we now are. It has taken all my strength and reserves, but I have not lost my mind as has happened to most others. I retained a sliver of sense of self, enough to remember—all of it. You surprise me. I would have expected you to foretell my betrayal or at least expect such a move. After all, I learned treachery by your hand."

Sidious dismissed the past with a snarl. "Skywalker—"

"Survives," interrupted Dooku. "And will undoubtedly seek you out. You cannot escape. As you are aware, the observation tower is surrounded by open ground with no cover."

Sidious was well aware of that inconvenient fact, and now reeling from the knowledge that Skywalker had indeed escaped the third world. His mind raced over all of the possibilities and ramifications. One thing was clear, Anakin Skywalker was more powerful that he had given him credit for. Perhaps close to reaching the potential that had been denied him after he'd sustained his injuries on Mustafar. That was not good news. The most powerful Jedi to have ever lived was now combined with the experience of a feared Dark Lord of the Sith. By comparison, Yoda and Mace Windu had experienced only a mere taste of the dark side before returning to the light, and they had been formidable enough. The risk he'd had posed had been the reason that Sidious had moved only when he was sure that Skywalker was gone for good. Unease morphed into definite alarm. With difficulty, Sidious kept his countenance and smiled, saying, "How uncharacteristically generous of you to defer your own needs and wants." Tutting, he made a show of shaking his head in gentle astonishment. "Come, old friend, why hand your revenge over to another? Come up and face me yourself. Surely the greatest and most celebrated duellist of his time is not afraid to face me?"

His carefully phrased insults were dismissed with the flick of a claw. "Save your goading, my lord. Look at what I have become. Do you really believe that the little pride I have left will respond to such ridiculous taunts? Besides, there is no need to rush. Skywalker will find me before he finds you and the winner of that meeting will then seek you. Rest assured of a visit by a former protégé very soon." With a bow that held an echo of his former grace, Dooku ended the transmission and disappeared.

o~o~o

The charred remains of the Narzgh gave the cityscape outside the bunker a surreal, nightmarish quality. Smoke and ash created a thick, choking smog. The air quality was so bad that Anakin created a Force-bubble around the small group of survivors to allow them to breathe freely. However, there was little he could do about the obstacle course that the walkway had become. The sheer scale and speed of the holocaust meant it was impossible to avoid wading through hot ash or crushing brittle, blackened bone underfoot.

The moment the Limidian's ramp had lowered enough, Anakin strode on-board, relinquishing a wounded Jazz to the medical droids and their hover stretchers, who stood waiting at the top. Doc was nowhere in sight. He then wasted no time in heading for the cockpit.

"Greetings, Master Jedi. Good to see you!" Jester held his upper two arms up in welcome and a grin split his wide, avian face. "The last we heard you were about to be overrun. Colour me relieved to find that report was a mite pessimistic." The Besalisk's considerable bulk was jammed into the pilot's chair, which he'd swivelled to face the exit.

Ceetee was there too and rocking excitedly from side to side, the little astromech droid let out a series of whistles and razzes to voice his joy at seeing Anakin.

Anakin waited until he'd buckled himself into the navigator's seat to reply, "The report was accurate. We just got lucky."

Anxious to find out who had flown his beloved ship, Sal hadn't wasted much time in coming up to the cockpit either. Having heard Jester's statement, he chimed in too, "Yup! With the sun at their backs, the besiegers became the besieged. We whupped their collective asses."

"After they'd whooped ours," Anakin reminded the pilot grimly. With difficulty, he met Jester's gaze to report, "We lost most of the teams. Of your people only Jazz and Vlad survived. Freyrr is wounded too. They're all in the infirmary."

Jester's expression turned reflective for a moment, before returning to more pragmatic lines. "They all knew going in that the mission was little more than a suicide run. At least you got the job done and they died clean. The Narzgh wouldn't have had the time to start playing."

"No, they wouldn't," Anakin agreed, "and we need to keep that momentum going. The barrier was only phase one. We still have to take the palace. If I know Sidious he'll have his troops regrouping and droids don't have a problem with sunlight."

"Well sure, and I recalled as much, which we why we dropped by to pick you up." Jester hoisted himself up from the pilot chair. "I've got some additional troops holed up in your crew quarters to provide backup until you get inside the palace. I think I'll just go along and give 'em one of my famous pep talks."

"Jester, before you go. Do you know where Padmè is?" Anakin had waited until Sal had taken the newly vacated pilot's seat to ask the question.

On his way out, Jester hesitated.

Sal suddenly found an obscure, little used—possibly broken—gauge on his far right of intense interest. Even Ceetee froze, with only the lights of his front PSI flashing red and green.

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about," Anakin warned, softly. "She was there flying one of the speeders. I heard her on the com link. We all did. It's funny, but I don't remember that being a part of the plan."

He tried to keep the temper out of his voice but Anakin's thin layer of composure was strained past all limits. Worry, frustration, shock, grief, and anger where all churning away, eating away at his control. Unlike Obi-Wan he'd never mastered the trick of putting his emotions aside to be meditated away later, and he couldn't hoard them like Vader. Meaning he didn't know what the hell to do with them.

Chaos take it! He'd just lost most of his team and while he hadn't known many of them personally, they'd been his simply because they'd fought beside him. In the middle of all of that he'd found out about Padmè not only being awake, but flying a speeder that was little more than target practice for a dozen or more ion cannons. Worse, he had to put all of his feelings aside to continue with the mission—until now. _She shouldn't have been anywhere near there._

"Maybe I'm wrong, but I thought I made it clear that I wanted her kept out of this?"

The dangerously soft tone didn't even faze the Besalisk. Ruefully, he shook his head. "Son, when you get to my age—which is considerably older than you—you get to know when a person is willing to be put off and when she isn't. I got that loud and clear today off your wife. I'd apologise, but it's called self-preservation and I never apologise for that. As for where she is, I honestly don't have the foggiest notion. She, along with her green-skinned friend, didn't report in with the others. If that ticks you off, I suggest you take it up with her after you find her."

Finishing with a brief shrug, Jester ambled out. After a pause, Sal cleared his throat and aimed for matter-of-fact to cover his discomfort with the charged atmosphere. "So, we're off to the palace, huh?"

It was an effort, but Anakin managed to master and rein in his still simmering temper. Jester was right, he wasn't responsible for keeping Padmè safe, that was Anakin's job and he was screwing it up royally. It was no one else's fault that he constantly underestimated her. He'd just have to find Padmè, and Lorne, once he'd dealt with Sidious. "As fast as you can get me there," he answered Sal shortly, "but, you don't need to stick around. Once I'm on the ground I want you to get yourself, and the wounded, out to safety."

Busy with a quick pre-take-off check, Sal sliced him a look that managed to be both hard and bland. "There's no need to insult me just because you're pissed."

Raking a hand through his hair, Anakin gusted out a sigh that did little to vent his aggravation. "I'm not trying to insult you—"

"Well, you are, and forget it. Put it this way, the last time I let you go off on your own we ended up having to mount a kriffin' rescue." The engine of the Limidian whined as they lifted off from the ground. Sal didn't miss a beat. "Unlike you I learn from my mistakes. We're all going, and the wounded can stay on the ship with the shields up."

Outside the cockpit, the smoke and smog cleared as the freighter rose above it and into a clear blue sky. Anakin stared at his friend, debating pushing it before he discarded the idea. He didn't have the patience, or the time to argue further. "Fine," he snapped. "Just bear in mind that I won't be able to babysit you. I have to get to Sidious."

"I can take care of myself—in case you hadn't noticed I've been doing it a while now. Anyway, look at this way. The Narzgh are either dead or cowering in the shadows. As a gambling man I'd have to say those are _way_ better odds than we had this morning."

"Good point."

~o~

It was only a short hop from the UTILIND sector to the palace and so the flight took only minutes. When they got there, they found they had a welcoming committee in the form of a contingent of droids. Using an emergency landing pattern, Sal got the freighter safely on the ground and kept the shields up, then headed for the starboard gunnery. When he got there though, Freyrr, swathed in crisp white medibandages, was already blasting away with the laser cannon and roaring her approval at the carnage she was wreaking on the droids guarding the palace.

"Well, I can see you're having fun?" Sal asked, grinning. He had to yell to be heard over the combined noise of cannon and Wookiee. "I'll leave you to it. Save some of 'em for the rest of us though, huh." Turning to go, he whirled back for a last verbal shot accompanied by a pointed index finger, "And no friendly fire incidences, okay!"

The grating of the Limidian's corridor floors banged under his feet as he raced for the ramp. Anakin was already outside and so were most of Jester's men. A blaster in each hand, Sal tagged along with the last of them. Thanks to the Limidian's laser cannons most of the droids were little more than fragments of scrap, but it was still dicey sprinting across the open ground to the same obscure access that he and Padmè had used during Anakin's trial. Pleased to be useful and off the confines of the ship, Ceetee had once again used his code-breaking skills and the door was open. The sounds of blaster fire had Sal ducking cautiously inside and joining Jester who was crouched on the left side. There, he took careful aim at the nearest droid. Chunks of permecrete showered his head at the volleys of return fire. "You know, I don't think I've had a single peaceful day since I met Skywalker," he informed the Besalisk.

"You don't surprise me," was the dry reply. Jester took aim with two pistols and a carbine rifle—courtesy of having four hands. "In fact, now you mention it, neither have I."

The next half an hour was slow going but they managed to advance deep inside, past the hanger bay and into the palace itself. They didn't have to go far before finding evidence of bloody mayhem and wanton destruction. In an effort not to be distracted, no one looked fully at the mangled bodies they were forced to pass by or step over. It wasn't just droids but some surviving Narzgh that caused them problems. Blasters were as useless as ever against the demons, but the UV attachments came in extremely handy. They'd just arrived outside the audience chamber when Sal heard a shouted warning, "_They've got thermal grenades!"_

Sal got a mental image of a little sphere and big, atomising boom. Oh crap! Hearing a tell-tale clatter on the marblelite floor, he managed to launch himself across the corridor.

His ribs exploded with pain when he landed on them and the boom behind him had Sal frantically covering his head with his hands. Sprawled on the floor, he simultaneously became aware of two things; he still had all of his limbs and associated body parts, and blaster bolts were peppering the floor and getting closer to his head. On a burst of adrenaline, Sal rolled out of range and towards one of the blasters that had skittered out of his hand when he'd hit the deck. Spitting out dust, he looked down the corridor and saw a Narzgh striding towards them. In its bony, blackened hand it held a red-bladed lightsaber.

The sun had passed its zenith and the corridor was now fully shaded. Double crap!

Scrambling to his feet, Sal took aim but before he could discharge the UV lamp, the Narzgh hooked a right and disappeared from sight, taking the same intersecting corridor that Anakin had taken only moments earlier.

o~o~o

The grip of the dark side that had felt so inexorable only hours earlier was waning, but it was still present. Anakin could sense his old master. Sidious was using his powers to attempt to shield himself, but could not hide himself entirely from one who had served him for so long. The Sith Lord was close. "Try as you might, you cannot hide from me for long, _master_, warned Anakin in a low growl. "Rest assured that I will find you!" He knew that while the words would not reach Sidious, the intent would.

Reaching the top flight of stairs that led to Lyonides' old apartment, Anakin felt a frisson of warning, a disturbance in the Force that was entirely different than Sidious—yet oddly familiar too. The warning brought more than awareness, it brought knowledge. There was a second Sith in the palace, he realised, another old foe from his past. Halting and tipping back his head, Anakin closed his eyes and opened his mind, sifting through the impossibly intricate layers of energy that weaved around him. Like Sidious, this entity tried to elude the search, but with considerably less success. When the answer came to him Anakin's eyes flew open again. "Dooku!"

There was no hesitation or second thoughts. Stepping back to the ancient-styled, polished banister, Anakin vaulted over it and let himself plummet between the two floors. Despite the height and speed of his descent, he landed gracefully on the tiles of the ground floor atrium, perfectly balanced—as if he had merely stepped off a low wall. Two meters away, a fully cloaked and cowled figure stood waiting for him—expecting him. With its ornately coloured and transparent ceiling, the atrium was bright, but without so much as a chink of direct sunlight. The Narzgh was safe from combustion. The creature's face was hidden from view, but visual confirmation was unnecessary. Anakin knew without a doubt that the Narzgh he was facing had once been a great Jedi, then a ruthless and wily Sith Lord—and finally a victim—of him. Twenty three years earlier, it had been Anakin Skywalker who had sent Count Dooku to the torment of the third world, by murdering him.

Guilt tightened the muscles of his shoulders as Anakin adopted a simple, defensive stance. Deliberately, he held his lightsaber across and close to his body rather than a recognisable lightsaber form. There was no need to appear overtly hostile. "Where is Sidious, Count?"

"You will find him, I have no doubt," returned Dooku, in a rasp that was utterly unlike the modulated and proudly noble voice he had once used. "_If_ you manage to get passed me!" The snap-hiss of Dooku's lightsaber was a direct and pointed challenge.

Anakin was unsurprised and uncomfortable. He had not sought, and did not want, this particular duel, so he did his best to avoid it. He kept his gaze level and tone even. "You probably feel differently, but my argument is not with you, Dooku. Despite what you are now, this once I will spare you. Leave and I will not pursue you—consider it recompense for the wrong I did you in the past."

In reply to that generous offer, Dooku laughed and the awful grating sound echoed in the cavernous chamber. "I see your arrogance has not decreased, Skywalker. Obviously you've failed to consider that I have an entirely different recompense in mind."

Revenge. Anakin could feel Dooku's thirst for it pulsing in the Force. A large part of him understood that thirst. Understood almost too well.

Realising that there was nothing he could say that would sway Dooku, Anakin resigned himself to a fight. With expert smoothness he moved into the opening stance of Shien—he needed this duel over fast. "So be it, but I wish you'd taken up my offer, as will you when I defeat you."

The pulsing red of Dooku's blade was held at low guard, the distinctive Makashi stance. "You're overconfident, as always. I hope you have a new strategy, Skywalker. Using the same ploy as last time simply won't do."

"Just for you, Dooku, I'll keep it interesting and vary it a little. I know how you hate to be bored."

"Thank you. That's very considerate of you."

The verbal sparring was over. Without any signal, other than a simultaneous gathering of energy in the Force, the two duellists sprang forward and the lightsabers engaged.

Dropping back and feinting to the left, Dooku spun and aimed a series of lightening fast cuts at Anakin's upper torso. Anakin's blade was a blur of blue speed as he parried and then went on the offensive. Knowing that using the classical moves of any particular lightsaber form would give a master bladesman such as Dooku the advantage, he kept his style fluid. Instead of using only the raw power of Djem So, Anakin kept his word and merged that power with the precision of Dooku's own Makashi. Instead of slashes and overhead chops, Anakin used thrusts and cuts with such speed and proficiency that he could easily sense his opponents surprise and uneasiness. Then, he changed again with a high, spinning kick that caught Dooku unawares and knocked the Narzgh off balance, following up with his favoured power blows that prevented the other from launching a counter attack.

Dooku was forced to retreat with a snarl.

"You know, you're making this too easy," Anakin taunted, following.

Dooku responded by dropping, spinning and lashing out with an ankle sweep, returning the favour and forcing Anakin back. Then the Narzgh was gone, shooting high over his head in a combined Force-leap and roll. Anakin swept his blade up behind his head to parry a chop aimed at his nape, then smoothly pivoted to block a thrust that would have skewered his guts. Only to fall prey to a snap-kick to his chin that had him seeing stars and landing on his back in a sprawl on the bottom few stairs. Anakin slapped aside a thrust to his heart and lashed out with his own foot, catching the demon in the thigh and sending him staggering back. The infinitesimal reprieve allowed Anakin to push himself back to his feet and retreat up the stairs, using height and greater leverage to his advantage.

It was wholly different from their last duel. Ironically, their roles were reversed. This time it was Anakin who was calm and composed, and Dooku who was brimming with rage. A little dryly, Anakin hoped that this didn't mean that the result would also be reversed.

The tempo of the fight increased as they fought their way up to the next level. The flash of red and blue was faster than the eye could follow. Swift strikes were countered with even swifter parries. The timing of both was faultless. Neither was able to force the other into a corner that would help end the duel. Dooku's rage in no way affected his mastery of the elegancy and precision of Form II. What the Sith Lord didn't know was that Vader had extensively studied the form, as the fluid sweeping style suited the limitations of his armour, and incorporated it into his own specialised variant of Form V—along with others. Maul at least had had some inkling of Vader's enforced versatility.

Deliberately, Anakin kept up his unpredictability.

Adopting a similar strategy, Dooku used a Force-push to operate one of the door controls off the first floor landing, spinning away from Anakin's attack to retreat through it. About to follow, Anakin was swept up by a sudden and overwhelming certainty that he needed to be somewhere else _now_! That he was running out of time. Unbidden, Padmè's face filled his vision and his heart stuttered and then stilled with terror. He shook his head to clear it and then his surroundings came rushing back.

Padmè was in the palace, he _knew_ it. He had to end this duel and find her.

Shaken and distracted, Anakin abandoned caution when he followed Dooku into a small, intimate, and dark theatre.

An incredible, crushing forced wrapped itself around his arms and ribcage and lifted Anakin into the air. Caught in a Force-bind and helpless to move, he could only hang there as Dooku's red blade slashed towards his neck.

Ironically it was another Narzgh that saved him. The door they'd come through led to a private box. The demon came hurtling out of the relative gloom of one corner with a mindless howl, aiming straight for Anakin. It distracted Dooku enough that Anakin was able to the break the bind at the last possible moment. Bringing up his lightsaber to parry away the deadly cut, Anakin flicked his blade back down the red lightsaber and its hilt, slicing off three of the claws gripping the curved alloy. Hissing in pain, Dooku nevertheless managed to call his weapon to his other hand, but not in time to renew his assault—of Anakin. The Narzgh that had interrupted them found itself tasting both lightsabers mid-charge, being abruptly sliced at both the pelvis and the neck.

The dismembered body flopped to the floor between them.

"Count Dooku," said Anakin, taking advantage of the pause. "I don't have time for this so I'll give you a second and final chance. Stop this now. Leave the city and go into the forest, then, when it rains, return to the third world. It's the best offer I can make you."

Black blood dripped unheeded to the floor, mingling with that of the other demon. "I would rather be destroyed than return there."

"In that case, I'll have to oblige you." With that, Anakin reached deep inside himself, tapping into a well of tremendous Force energy that he had been struggling to find the courage to touch, and unleashed pure Djem So. He had no other choice.

Even if used by a skilled, unwounded duellist the elegance and precision of Makashi would still have been no match for the sheer kinetic power of Anakin's increasingly savage strikes and ferocious chops. There was no rage, just immense drive, incredible willpower and unmitigated physical domination. He gave no quarter and left no opportunity for parries or ripostes. Blue energy lashed and whirled faster and harder. It didn't matter to Anakin that there was hardly any room to manoeuvre, he didn't need it. Weakened and limited to the use of one hand, Dooku could only block and slant every blow aside as they rained down in him. In a matter of seconds, the Narzgh was forced over to the edge of the box and its four meter drop to the stage underneath. He chose to drop. Sidestepping an overhead chop that, despite his block, got close enough to singe through his cloak and into flesh, Dooku stepped up and back-leaped away into the darkness.

Leaving Anakin to vent his frustration with a bellowed curse. Blue eyes blazing and breathing hard, he watched as the Narzgh fled over the stage, up two flights of stairs and disappeared through another doorway. Anakin was just considering whether Dooku had in fact decided to accept his offer of a limited amnesty, when he heard a distant, terrified scream. That he couldn't ignore. Cursing more virulently, Anakin dropped to the stage too and followed yet again.

~o~

The door led to a covered, shady walkway that overlooked and ran the length of a sunny courtyard three storey's below them. The abrupt change of light conditions was disorienting, but not enough to hide the terrified face of the woman held up off her feet by Dooku's uninjured left hand. Filthy from whatever hiding place she'd crawled out from, she was being held against the Narzgh's cloaked form and facing Anakin. Dooku's cloak hood had fallen back, revealing his ghastly features. There was barely any trace of the once refined, white-haired man. Only a few wisps of white hair remained on the burned and blackened skull. Instead of ears, there were holes and he retained only a single eye to glare across the shaded distance.

Anakin approached slowly and one step at a time. "Let her go."

Dooku ignored the demand, and his struggling prisoner. "I have come to the realisation that I can't chance being defeated by you for a second time, as galling as that is for me to admit. I thought it was a risk that I was willing to take, but I was wrong." What might have been a smile lifted the ragged flesh around his fangs. "It seems I do I have my pride after all. You are indeed powerful, Skywalker. More so even than last time."

"I'm glad you think so, now let her go."

As a warning to come no nearer, Dooku swung the petrified woman away from him and dangled her over the drop. All he said was, "I haven't finished."

Anakin stopped. "So finish."

"As I was saying, I will not return to the third world. You cannot imagine what it is to spend decades there. As a Sith Lord, I believed that the power of the dark side was limitless and easily eclipsed the light. I was a fool. Darkness is merely nothingness without the light to act as a contrast, a balance if you will. The third world is proof of that. There is no Force. No dark side. No power. It is pure darkness, pure nothingness and pure chaos. As such, anything that exists there will eventually lose every shred of self and sanity." Dooku raised his other deformed and clawed hand to view the bloody stumps—all that remained of three fingers—with indifference. "When there is _nothing_ else even pain can be a comfort."

Anakin felt his gorge rise at the picture painted by that last statement. "If you have a point, get to it. You're choking her."

"I will not suffer defeat, will not return to hell and cannot exist here with the barrier having reverted to its former purpose. There is no escape for me, except self-destruction."

It occurred to Anakin to wonder what happened to a Narzgh who died. Was there a fourth world? "Go right ahead. I won't try and stop you."

"However, that leaves Sidious. He used me like a pawn, a lure to draw you in—the apprentice he truly wanted. That knowledge has been like acid burning into my soul for over two decades. I have had no peace from it, even if it has kept me from complete degradation."

"Tell me where he is and I'll deal with him for both of us." After he found Padmè, Anakin amended silently.

"Perhaps that is the way it is meant to be," conceded Dooku. With a flick of his wrist, the Narzgh contemptuously tossed the sobbing woman towards Anakin, who cushioned her landing and caught her.

"Try the observation tower. He should still be there…trapped by the sun." Dooku gave a grating laugh that held no amusement. "I'm disappointed not be there at his end, but I have learned to recognise when I'm defeated. A word of warning, Skywalker. Don't dally or your wife will get there before you."


	20. Chapter 22 & 23 Another two'fer

UNSIGNED REVIEW: mlhkvk5 – We're are so nearly there! Certainly for the answers to Sidious and A/P see below. I really hope you like it and see the note at the end for more info on what is left to come. Thank you so much for all of your reviews and encouragement! Hugs!

NOTE: (This will be repeated a the end in case folks miss it)

I know I said that the next post would be the last, but this one is already just shy of 30 pages and I decided that I couldn't add more without risking giving folks eye strain. However, all that is left is the epilogue, which I'm hoping to have up for you by next weekend.

Also, there is another note at the end—don't read it until you've finished the post though or you'll spoil yourself good and proper *g*

_Grr! – This thing with not translating what's on my screen properly is driving me nuts! Sorry, but my mini line scene breaks haven't been showing properly: (o~o~o is for a scene break and ~o~ is for a POV break). It is fixed now!_

**Chapter Twenty Two**

FIFTY MINUTES EARLIER …

Beads of sweat formed at Padmé's hairline and then, when they'd reached critical mass, dive-bombed for her eyes. She swiped at her damp forehead for the about the billionth time. It felt as if the sun was broiling them alive, but, it was still better than the alternative. A trio of Narzgh were crouched a few feet away. A few times they'd slid out of sight, but they always slunk back when she and Lorne didn't fall for their generous 'invitation' to try and escape. Right now, those sightless, hideous faces were locked on them with a sick hunger that made her stomach roil. They were essentially trapped in the ground floor office of some nameless and probably dead palace clerk, squatting with their backs to the wall in a patch of sunlight that was getting smaller by the minute. She estimated that in roughly twenty minutes, thirty maximum, the sun would have changed position enough for them to be sitting ducks. Unfortunately her rifle was out of UV charge. Even so she kept her blaster aimed dead centre of the first Narzgh's ugly face. They were at a very temporary stand-off.

Now seemed the appropriate time to say, "I'm sorry, Lorne. I wish I'd insisted that you stay in the speeder."

The Pylean had discarded his suit jacket and was sitting in electric blue pants and a ruby red shimmersilk shirt; not exactly camouflage gear. "You and me both, princess." He gave her a wan smile. "That'll teach me to have a hero moment, huh."

Padmé opened her mouth to make a soothing reply, only to snap it shut again. She'd just caught a sound that she would swear could only be an engine—more significantly, a sublight engine and not a repulsorlift. As far as she was aware, the only craft that had been flying around the Core since the invasion was their speeders—and the Limidian. Her heart kicked up a beat. "Did you hear that?" she whispered to Lorne.

"Hear what?"

"Wait." She gripped his arm. "Do you feel that…is that vibration?"

"Possibly." Lorne quirked a brow. "Is that somehow significant, because if so, it's going right over my head?"

Padmé didn't hear him. She was suffering a sweep of hope and trepidation in equal and conflicting parts. "That _is_ an engine! And it's not a speeder or a normal transport." Her fingers clenched on his arm. "Lorne, I think I recognise it." Anakin was here, she thought, and the bottom dropped out of her stomach.

"Good for you." Lorne patted her hand, humouring her and ostensibly prising her dug-in fingers out of the abused flesh of his upper arm.

"Lorne," she hissed, "It's the Lim—"

She didn't get to finish. First came the blaster fire, probably from the droids they'd seen around the palace, then the sonic boom of something much bigger and more powerful. Without warning, the office around them, including the window behind their backs, imploded. Thrown forward with incredible force, Padmé saw the opposite wall rushing to meet her and could do nothing to avoid it. The impact had pain exploding out from her left hip and radiating up the length of her body. She didn't remember falling to a sprawl on the floor. When she could focus again the office seemed brighter and clouds of dust rode the sunbeams that slanted across her body. Somewhere close by something was burning. Dazed and close to passing out, Padmé likened the stench to rancid rancor meat sizzling on a hot plate.

o~o~o

PRESENT TIME…

Of all of the outcomes she'd expected of her decision to confront Sidious, the inability to find him hadn't featured. They'd escaped being cornered by Narzgh only to wander around and find _nothing_—not even a _hint_. Frustration was clawing up her chest. A single thought kept spinning through her head, where _was_ the snake?

Thanks to the Narzgh, coupled with their fateful rescue by the Limidian's cannons, Padmé was just about out of time, leaving her no choice but to take drastic action. It meant risking a meeting with Anakin, but she couldn't see any other way to get the information she needed.

She limped towards the end of the corridor running perpendicular to the main thoroughfare of the palace. Lorne was trailing behind her and pressing a colourful bit of cloth to the gash over his right eye. The sound of blaster fire was harsh now that they were so close. Hugging the wall, she did a quick, cautious check around the corner and then motioned for Lorne to her follow her. Six men were crouched strategically along the corridor leading to the audience chamber. At the far end was a pile of super battle droids. Most were scrap but two were still fighting on, albeit not very accurately with their heads no longer attached to their armoured shoulders. Laser bolts still flew, but doing little more than adding to the scorch holes already peppering the palace walls. There was no sign of Anakin. Scuttling along those walls, Padmé and Lorne made their way to the battered and bedraggled figure of Sal Trent, blasting away with a pistol.

When she touched his arm, he yelped and whirled. Seeing the pair of them his dark eyes bugged out. "For stars sake! Don't you know better than to creep up on a guy! And, _where the hell have you been_?"

His dark, wiry hair was defying gravity and dried blood was smeared over his craggy, scarred face. Smiling, and genuinely delighted to see him, Padmé asked tongue-in-cheek, "Which question do you want me to answer?"

Before he could reply, they had to duck when a stray blaster bolt hit too close and showered them with plastercrete.

"Neither. Never mind. For stars sake! You look like hell." Scowling, he tugged her down lower to make sure she was out of the line of fire and surprised her with a brief one-armed hug. Lorne simply got a glare. "Have you seen Anakin, or, more accurately, has he seen you?"

Sal's gruff tone suggested that a meeting with Anakin might not be the highlight of her day. He must be angry with her. Padmé's heart didn't seem to care, leaping with a combination of anticipation, need and dread. Contrary to what her head was telling her, she wanted nothing more than to see him, perhaps hold him for the last time—very likely exposing her plan. He could read her too easily. Thankfully it wasn't a problem as he wasn't here. A little breathlessly, she replied, "No to either. I was about to ask you the same thing."

Sal had turned his attention back to the winding down fight, but managed to shout between shots. "He reported in a few minutes ago. He was breaking up, but I'm pretty sure he said something about an observation tower. He asked me to send Ceetee along to rendezvous with him. He also asked me to look for you." He gave a baffled shake of his head. "Don't ask me how, but he seemed to know that you were here too."

Ahead of them, the droids were finally taken down for the last time. Padmé hardly noticed even though she was staring right at the action. Her mind was elsewhere. She could have kicked herself for not thinking of it before. _The observation tower! Of course. Palpatine always did like to lord it over everybody._

"Well, it looks like you found me," she said lightly and tried another smile, then wished she hadn't because it felt forced. "How long ago did Anakin tell you about the tower?"

Unluckily for her, Sal had turned his head in time to catch the smile. It must have seemed false to him too because his eyes narrowed with sudden suspicion. "A few minutes. Why?"

Padmé blinked at being seen through so easily. "No particular reason."

She quickly averted her gaze before those sharp eyes could pick up on anything else and rose to her feet, wincing at the pain from her stiff, bruised hip and the jagged cut that was still oozing blood. "There's something I have to do. I'll be back as soon as I can. Lorne, you should stay with Sal, and this time I mean it."

She should have known it wouldn't be so easy. Sal rose too, following right on her heels and snagging her elbow. "Hey, hey, hey! Not so fast, Councillor."

The frustration she'd been battling threatened to boil over. Padmé spun to face him, ditching prevarication in her urgency. "Sal, I don't have time for this! I can't explain, but I have to go. You'll just have to trust me."

His face was set and uncompromising. "Tough! If you think I'm going to let you go wandering off on your own, you've got another think coming. We're making some headway, sure, but this place still has pockets of droids and Narzgh. Where you go," he stabbed a finger at her and then reversed it back to his own chest, "I go."

o~o~o

The dark side was receding. Day had come to Junga Roth and while there was still immense suffering, the tables had turned. Bereft of the incredible, consuming dark surge that he'd been channelling, Sidious resorted to using the one unparalleled strength that he had left …thinking.

The observation tower had been built by Lyonides during his tenure as Premier. Ironically, the official reason was that it was to be a memorial to the father he'd had assassinated. Sidious had enjoyed that irony when he'd chosen the tower as the site to build his bridge back to life. Now, he cared only for the fact that he'd known and understood Lyonides the son—a proud and paranoid man who had alienated more than a third of his people. Sidious was certain that Petris Lyonides wouldn't have built the tower for his personal use without including an escape route.

Using the Force, he probed the tower's circular and domed pinnacle. Echoes of the past were brushed aside like so much flotsam. Layer by layer, the Dark Lord of the Sith sifted and scanned. If nothing else, he was confident of this…the most obvious element of any secret escape route was that they tended not to be out in the open, and so pray to sunlight.

By the time he found it, Sidious could feel the sheer _power_ of the approaching storm—a storm that strode through the corridors of the palace, seeking him. Dooku's word filtered into his brain, _reckoning_. Despite the urgency, he paused. Ah yes, he thought, that word resonated. The presence he could feel drawing closer and closer was filled with a determination, a _need_ for a reckoning—and it wasn't Dooku.

Anakin.

Vader.

The jewel that a waiting, calculating Palpatine had polished to a shine for over two decades, patiently biding his time while a nine year old boy grew to become a man—before finally unveiling the future in a flourish of blood, death and darkness. The greatest of the Jedi to have fallen to the dark side. The Chosen One, whose destiny should have been well and truly hi-jacked and never come to pass.

The most powerful and promising of apprentices, and the most bitterly disappointing.

The panels hiding the discreet launch module disintegrated with one sweep of Sidious' hand. Behind it was an untouched and unused single-person pod, complete with an automated guidance system. Amber eyes glinted. He was free of this supposed prison.

"I'm afraid that you're once again too late, Anakin Skywalker," he mocked. "As always, you are fateful steps behind me."

o~o~o

Anakin was striding over the plaza, skirting the ornamental gardens and waterfall that stood between him and the observation tower in its centre, when he was hit by the sudden notion that he was once again dancing to somebody else's tune—and that he was desperately out of step. The premonition, riding on a wave of the Force had him lifting his head, just in time to see a long silvery thread dart out of the circular apex of the tower.

He didn't want to believe the evidence of his eyes, but he broke into a Force-enhanced sprint for the base of the tower, regardless. Finding himself suddenly alone, Ceetee let out a plaintive razz at being left behind, but Anakin didn't slow down. _Sidious was trying to escape_. Determination turned his face to granite. He refused to let Sidious get away. The mere idea enraged him. No matter what, this nightmare was going to end today.

Gaining access to the tower was childs play. Inside, he found a pile of super battle droids parts, a deactivated turbolift, and a sabotaged communications system. Dooku's work he surmised as he raced up the sunlit stairs. When he reached the top, he was breathing no harder than if he'd meandered his way up the twenty four storeys. There was no sign of Sidious. His old master had already flown—literally.

Controlling his fury, Anakin raised his com-link to his mouth. "Ceetee get up here. I need you."

Down below, the little astromech droid toodled away to himself as he got to work on the turbolift. Once power had been returned, Ceetee rolled inside and used the dataport to instruct the lift to take him up to the top. There, he found the bottom half of his master sticking out from a large hole in some walls panels; the head and shoulders were hidden from view.

The droid let out a long whistle to announce his presence.

Anakin shimmied back out, rose lithely to his feet and activated his lightsaber. A moment later the hole was considerably bigger. Nodding in satisfaction he said, "There, now we can work." He gestured for Ceetee to take his place, saying, "I need you to bypass the damage done to the primary launch control and instruct the secondary systems to call up the alternate pod for launch, then trace the exact trajectory of the first one. Don't fail me, Ceetee."

A few minutes later, Anakin was strapping himself into the cramped little pod that acted as a backup if the first one failed. The canopy was open and, as he was still waiting for the co-ordinates for the pod Sidious had escaped in, he answered his com-link when it beeped, "Skywalker."

"Hey pal'o'mine," said Sal. "I've got your wife and we're on our way. What's your status?"

He hadn't realised just how tense he'd been until Anakin felt himself relax. His belly flip-flopped with relief. Padmé was safe. It was difficult but he managed to get his thoughts back on track. "Sidious found a way out of the tower, I'm about to pursue. I'll have him shortly." Pausing, he closed his eyes, calling her face to mind. Tellingly his voice went deeper when he asked, "Keep her safe for me."

"I'll try. She wants me to pass on a message."

A message? Hope bloomed in his chest. "What is it?"

"Don't confront Sidious."

Whatever he'd been expecting it wasn't that. Anakin's eyes snapped open. _Was she serious?_. "I have to. If I don't, he'll get away and Roth will never be safe. He'll just keep trying."

Surely she understood that?

"That's what I told her, but she's adamant that now isn't the time."

It hit him then and Anakin's free hand clenched into a bloodless fist. "She's been talking to Lorne hasn't she?"

There was a pause.

"Lorne says, 'guilty as charged'."

Hope died and bitter fury spat up like molten lava to scorch his insides. _After everything, she still didn't trust him_. Tersely, he said, "Tell her I'm sorry, but I have to deny her request. I'll see you later." Blindly, Anakin shoved the com-link back in his belt and turned his head to glare at Ceetee and snap, "I need those co-ordinates now!"

By the time the co-ordinates appeared on his screen and the canopy snapped shut and sealed, Anakin's hot flare of anger had cooled to sick ice. His past would always colour the way Padmé saw and thought of him, and he had no one to blame for that but himself. As the truth of that was undeniable, his anger drained away as if it had never been.

_I love you so much, Padmé. Maybe one day…_

His throat closed on the thought. He couldn't finish it. Hope and despair were two faces on the same idol. Both hurt so much that he wanted to peel back his ribs and rip out his heart.

His head fell back to the moulded seat and his eyes were bleak when Anakin depressed the launch trigger. The retractable silver launch track shot out. A microsecond later, the pod launched and rocketed away from the tower at blinding speed.

Strapped inside, Anakin used the journey to prepare himself for his third duel of the day, and the most important of his life. In war, if not love, he knew what he needed to do—destroy his enemy beyond any possible resurrection.

o~o~o

The pod was an inferior technology with only limited flight potential and landing options. Sidious would have preferred to be able to make it into the forest, but as that was out of the question, he'd chosen the destination least likely to interest a pursuer, especially one who thought he knew his quarry.

Unexpectedly the topmost hanger bay of the city's central transport terminal was already in use. Herds of human survivors were being loaded on a pair of battered transport, guarded by a hodge-podge of pathetically equipped sentients. A feeble rescue attempt organised by yet another wretched, pitiable _rebellion_ he realised, seething. Sidious was in no mood for pity though

Screams of utter terror greeted him when he appeared. Their blaster bolts did no more than sting, but those Force forsaken UV attachments seared his exposed face. Roaring his wrath, Sidious raised a hand, fisted it, and picked them up in a Force Grip strong enough to crush their flimsy bodies. Leaving them dangling, he indulged himself with their helplessness and pain for a few beats before hurling them out of the hanger bay doors.

Of course, after witnessing his easy disposal of their protectors, the rest of the humans started to squeal and squeak like porcine, Gamorrean scum. He let them scuttle aboard the shuttles and close the ramps because it suited him. As if hiding in shuttles would save them. Chuckling, Sidious set both alight with Force Fire. It would be a slow death while the unnatural flames consumed alloy and flesh alike. To his mind it was an excellent precursor to the distraction he planned to employ to throw Skywalker off his scent. He was going to summon a Force Storm the likes of which this pathetic world had never seen. Who needed a barrier? Sidious could blot out the sun himself and perhaps watch this city being plundered by a ravening power that was far more horrifying than claws and teeth.

They'd dared to defy him and now they were all going to pay the price, and Skywalker would be helpless to do anything except watch: his feeble Jedi heart and spirit crumbling because he couldn't save everyone. Now there was an enervating idea, mused Sidious. It appealed on so many levels.

It had to be accomplished quickly though.

Approaching the hanger bay doors with his arms imperiously raised, Sidious stopped inches from the encroaching golden wash of sunlight. Instantly, roiling black clouds started to whip and froth in the blue sky outside. Within moments, the Sith Lord was able to walk to the edge of the hanger as the clouds extinguished the sun and lightening began to fork over the city. Cackling, the he intensified his efforts, only to have his enjoyment rudely curtailed.

Another presence intruded, and sooner than expected.

Sidious whipped around to face the same doors that he had appeared through, and locked eyes with Anakin Skywalker.

For the first time since Vader had broken his sworn oath as a Sith and turned on his master—_for love_—they were in each others presence. The very air seemed to tremble and crackle with an awareness, and protest, of the enormity of this meeting.

"So, we meet up at last, my treacherous apprentice. This is a reunion that I've been looking forward to with considerable…pleasure."

Skywalker cocked a brow. "So I gathered by the speed of your failed attempt to elude me, _my master_."

Skywalker's chin was raised and shoulders proudly thrown back. His blue eyes were alight with confidence and arrogance as he stared back at Sidious. That confidence was further evidenced by the fact that his lightsaber was still attached to his utility belt. Without looking, raising a hand or moving a muscle, Skywalker sent a sweep of Force Purge over the two shuttles, extinguishing the flames consuming them.

The screams of those trapped inside subsided to whimpers now that a saviour was at hand.

Such foolish trust in heroism, thought Sidious, amused. Strolling away from the edge of the hanger bay, the Sith Lord smiled his delight. "You're still so anxious to save the weakest, most pitiful life forms of the universe I see, _Jedi_! You realise of course that this is a useable weakness?" he shook his head sadly, the disappointed father chastising his wayward son. "Tsk! I thought I'd taught you better long ago."

When a mere four meters separated them, both came to a halt. The invisible charge in the air multiplied a thousand times with a terrible sense of taut expectancy.

"I saw such things your way once, but I know differently now."

Ah, the old Anakin arrogance, thought Sidious, amused afresh. How refreshing to know he hadn't changed that much. "Do you. Do you, indeed."

Without warning he lashed out, but not at his opponent. The nearest shuttle lifted off the floor and sped for the hanger doors with blurring speed. This time Skywalker did lift his hand, halting the shuttle's headlong flight towards death and not a moment too soon. That was when Sidious struck. As swift as a striking viper, he hurled twin bolts of lightening at Skywalker. It was a fitting end, he decided gleefully.

Except the unbelievable happened. Skywalker caught both as easily as if they were mere energy bolts from a blaster, and, face set and expressionless, funnelled the destructive power right back to its source.

Snarling with rage over the failed tactic, Sidious released the connection before it could reach him. Inside he was reeling. _What was this!_ An ancient such as Yoda was one thing, but Anakin Skywalker! Even the admittedly formidable Mace Windu had not been able to counter the raw elemental power of Force Lightening with such ease.

A new strategy was required, he realised. Sidious folded his hands and began walking very slowly and cautiously in a wide circle.

"Very good, Anakin. You've learned much since we last worked together. " He voiced the concession ruefully, attempting to momentarily suspend hostilities. He needed time to weigh and consider his options. He'd expected an improvement now that Skywalker was whole again, but this display exceeded his expectations considerably.

"I walk and breathe under my own power. I am a man, not a machine. It makes a difference," confirmed Skywalker. "And we never _worked_ together, _master_." He didn't move except to swivel only as much as necessary to keep Sidious in sight.

Searching the Force, Sidious could find only cold resolution in his ex-apprentice and had to admire his restraint. This patience went beyond that instilled in Vader and was unheard of in his youth. He probed further, seeking a weakness.

"Is that why you betrayed me, Anakin? Did you feel unappreciated? That I was holding you back?" Sidious spread his hands, stalling. "If so, I can only apologise; that was never my intention. You were my apprentice—the heir to my power. We were so close to total victory. You would have been Emperor after me with your children at your side."

For a brief moment, Skywalker's eyes flashed fire and his lip curled. "Luke saw through you in a way I didn't until it was too late for me. Neither you, nor I, would have ever been able to turn him to the dark side. He is a true Jedi."

It was a distinct pleasure to interject, "In the way you never were."

Sidious saw the rejection, the struggle, then the acceptance. Skywalker nodded once. "Yes."

"Yet, Obi-Wan Kenobi mentored you both. Perhaps he simply tried harder with Luke?"

Finally, Skywalker's hand went to his belt, unclipping his lightsaber. "I do not blame Obi-Wan for my own shortcomings." Those blue eyes turned colder, and calmer. "However, I do blame you for sabotaging my training as a Jedi, for working your insidious poison into every part of my life until I no longer recognised right from wrong. As you are still attempting to do now." A snap-hiss accompanied the emergence of the bright blue blade as it was ignited.

With a twitch of power, Sidious called his own lightsaber to his hand. "You delude yourself, Skywalker. I needed only to spread the poison that was already there." Carefully, drawing it out and revelling in every word, Sidious made his first real stab. "Ask your wife, does she not recognise it in you still…fear it still?"

He saw and felt the pain that spasmed across that smooth face. Savage ebullience filled him. _Now_! Gathering every atom of his dark Force energy, Sidious literally _flew_ at his soon-to-be-destroyed-apprentice.

o~o~o

His breath had frozen in his lungs. The sudden blaze of pain distracted Anakin. It roared out from his heart and wrapped around his mind. By the time he'd freed himself from it and rooted out the poison of Sidious' words, the Sith Lord himself was upon him.

It was like trying to contain a whirlwind. In that instant of distraction he'd let himself be pushed into a position of pure defence. The raining blows seemed random but there was a design underlying the hissing savagery. Anakin found himself retreating as he sought to block and parry, sliding away thrusts that stabbed and snapped at his head and body like the coiled, powerful strikes of a serpent. Unlike Dooku, Anakin had known that his opponent was a master of multiple lightsaber forms, but he hadn't expected this barrage. Sidious didn't make smooth transitions from one form to another, but used them in conjunction, morphing and mingling seamlessly from Ataro to Makashi, to Vaapad, to Shien and back to Vaapad in the blink of an eye. Only by submersing himself fully in the Force was Anakin able to prevent being cut to pieces.

It was impossible not to be shaken.

_Remember, the best offence is a good defence_. It was as if Obi-Wan had whispered the words at his shoulder. The comfort of that voice was immeasurable. Anakin's nerves smoothed out as if they'd never been. Dropping to a squat, he lashed out with ankle sweep that knocked Sidious off balance and then vaulted over his head. The move gained him the time needed to marshal his thoughts for Soresu, centering his concentration and rebutting all distraction. It was the perfect form to counter Sidious, and not described as 'being within the eye of the storm' for nothing.

His breathing lengthened as Anakin became that eye, calmly allowing Sidious to whirl around the edges and expending precious energy. To an onlooker the blue of his blade would be a blur, but he could see every weaving stroke. Speed was an almost abstract concept because Anakin didn't feel as if he was stretching himself. The effort was minimal. He'd found his balance again, and he could feel fear rise in Sidious. Now it was the Sith Lord who found his breathing turn ragged.

It also gave Anakin time to think.

_I have failed you, Anakin. I was never able to teach you to think_.

Not this time.

His greatest weakness was also his greatest strength—his ability to love. Right now it was only him and Sidious, but if he wasted too much time then those that he loved would come. He knew it. And then he would be weak.

There was no decision to make. Anakin parried a thrust aimed at his pelvis with such ferocity that Sidious stumbled, then whirled into _Jung Ma_. The full spin seemed to draw in kinetic energy from the hanger itself, sucking in air and expelling it explosively when Anakin launched a counter offensive that beat even Soresu for sheer velocity. The switch to Djem So was seamless, even pleasurable, and entirely necessary.

Having already lavishly tapped into his Force energy reserves for too prolonged a period, Sidious was forced to give ground as the lunges, slashes, power strikes and overhand chops battered him with brutal, raw power. Like Dooku on the _Invisible Hand_ he could find no purchase to enable him counter effectively, there was no break to exploit. Anakin just kept coming and coming in a flashing flurry of deadly blue. A remorseless, indefatigable force intent on destruction…on a reckoning.

On finishing.

Fuelled with a final burst of rage, Sidious Force-hurled a support strut from under a passenger skiff that had been left for repairs before the Narzgh attack. The skiff collapsed on its side just as Anakin batted the missile aside with a wave of his hand. Snarling, Sidious focused on the unwieldy skiff, bringing it scraping and careening towards a nearby Anakin, who flipped into the air and backrolled onto its juddering top. He landed with perfect, precise balance. Now it was his turn. Anakin gripped his fist, yanking a meter-wide, ceiling-mounted view screen from its moorings before sending it spinning and sparking straight at Sidious. Abruptly, the hangar bay became a storm of wreckage with the two combatants deflecting, sideslipping or leaping away before sending more flying on its way. Smoke rose as sparks spat and ricochets left craters indescriminantly. Overhead alarms began to blare and lights flicker as emergency systems kicked in.

Yet even that seemed anti-climatic compared to when the pair came at each other again. The battle had ripped away every veneer. Sidious was monstrous. Anakin was pure, unadulterated aggression. A black shadow and seething fire. Demon Sith against fallen Jedi.

Finally leaving the hanger bay, they fought viciously down the length of the skyglide that connected with the main terminal. More alarms were set off, this time releasing tiny spider droids no bigger than a man's palm to repair the damage. They came scuttling out of the walls as sheets of lightening flashed on either side of transparent tube, briefly lifting the darkness of the Force Storm that Sidious had summoned. Gales carrying the destructive force of a hurricane guttered at the transparisteel sides, howling its frustration at being unable to shatter the slim, cylindrical structure that hovered thousands of meters above ground. However, even the elemental fury of nature could not eclipse the battle within. The clash and exchange of their lightsabers was equally savage and destructive.

The spider droids became part of the arsenal each used against the other. Anakin pivoted to bat aside one zooming towards his back, then reversing his grip, swept his lightsaber one-handed back behind his head in a tight swing to deflect a brutal cut to his nape. Still moving, as balanced as a dancer, he smoothly shifted his grip to his other hand, at the same time swivelling under his own arm in a blurring twist. Sidious' eyes widened at abruptly finding the blue point of Anakin's blade aiming dead centre between them. The Sith Lord managed to block the kill blow, deflecting it enough that it merely singed the top of his right shoulder.

Anakin gave him a tight grin. "The first cut is mine."

Withered lips curled back. "The last will be mine," Sidous retorted in a hiss, enraged enough to step up his offensive with a sudden, powerful snap-kick that caught Anakin full on the face and sent him staggering back.

Snarling, Anakin recovered and countered with a flurry of merciless power blows unrivalled for deadly velocity. The flow of the Force around them became a swfitly running current as each called on it to aid in the destruction of the other.

The skyglide led to a passenger departure lounge and beyond that was the main body of the terminal. At forty two storeys high, the towering structure featured a central atrium for light and ventilation, tightly encircled by a corkscrew of pedestrian walkways lined with more glides, restaurants and shopping areas. It was a quirk of the architecture that the domed top of the atrium was three storeys below the top of the building.

Feinting with a stabbing lunge to Anakin's face, Sidious slipped into Ataru and shot straight over his head. The speed and momentum of the move transformed into a spin, allowing the Sith Lord to cut and slash at Skywalker's upper torso as he passed. Sidestepping the flashing red blade, Anakin countered with the same deceptively simple, circular slash that had cost him his limbs on Mustafar.

It might have worked if a deactivated delivery droid hadn't slammed into the back of his knees and brought him toppling down. Sidious used the time he'd gained to whip up a hand and pinion Anakin with a body bind, but not before Anakin lashed out with a saber throw that arced through the air and aimed straight at the Sith Lord's neck. Having to deflect it cost him the ability to complete the bind. Calling his lightsaber back to his hand, Anakin used the Force to flip nimbly back to his feet.

He was too late. Seeking an advantage that he hadn't yet found, Sidious leapt over the railing and dropped. Sprinting for the same railing, Anakin followed. He didn't plummet though; he dived and used his outspread arms to glide wide before bringing his feet back under him.

Ten meters.

Four meters.

Two meters.

Anakin used his knees, cushioned by the Force, to lever off the side of an ascending walkway and used that extra momentum to flip himself over and finally land directly behind Sidious on the transparisteel dome—the only thing stopping them plunging thousands of meters. Fissures, like fault lines, appeared beneath their feet. There was an open sky above them and a thirty nine story drop below. Overhead, lightening flashed as the Sith Lord whirled and their lightsabers crossed yet again. This time neither drew back. Both bore down, chest-to-chest. Sidious snarled, gnashing his fangs, every bit as bestial as Maul. Anakin gritted his teeth and let out a strangled roar as he channelled his own formidable strength.

He also began to speak. "Dooku is dead. He walked into the sun, but it was you who destroyed him, just like you destroyed me."

"Dooku was a tool," Sidious hissed from mere inches away, "Just like you were a tool. I was going to rule forever. _I still intend to!_ !"

Anakin bore down harder even though the tendons and muscles of his arms screamed a protest as the pressure mounted. "I'll stop you. I'll always stop you. I was _born_ to stop you."

"You can't stop me. You don't have enough hate left in you. Deep down inside you're still nothing more than a scared, egotistical slave boy from a desert moon."

With a combined bellow they finally disengaged to conserve the strength needed to continue the fight. A crest of fury rose up in Anakin, and controlling it, he whirled his lightsaber in a deep flex, forcefully relaxing the muscles in his shoulders. Waiting for Sidious to make his next move, he warned, "Don't fall into the same trap that so many have tumbled into since I came here—judging me by my face. You forget, my master, that I know you. I've walked by your side and knelt at your feet for over twenty years."

"A position most suitable for a slave."

Anakin let the insult slide right by. "You're nothing. You're lies—a fragile lattice of hatred, ego and deception eaten up from the inside by your own venom. Look in the mirror and see what I see."

"Tsk. Tsk. Sticks and stones, Anakin. Is that all you can muster, childish taunts?"

A new voice intruded. "That would depend on what you consider a childish taunt."

o~o~o

Lorne had a bad—no make that dreadful—feeling about how this was going to end. They'd lost Padmé when they'd gotten bogged down by more of those hulking metal brutes. It wasn't just that Anakin was going to be seriously pissed that bothered him; he too had a weakness for women with spines of steel, big hearts and sad brown eyes, particularly this one. If anything happened to the princess it would be his fault. Forget the big guy with the shiny sword, he'd never forgive _himself_!

He really needed to learn when to keep his mouth shut!

Maybe staples…or duct tape, or both.

Sal kept telling him the same thing. Over and over and over.

The repetition didn't help either his guilt or his headache. For the first time in like, ever, Lorne lost his temper. "Okay. Okay. I get it already. I screwed up. It happens occasionally. Did I ask to get dragged into this crap? No! Trust me I've had it up to my very green neck with this type of crazy apocalypse shtick. In fact, I swore never again. Only to cave the moment some brooding, tragic hero with redemption issues bats his baby blues at me. More fool me." Holding a hand to his abused head, Lorne winced when it throbbed a protest. He was having to shout to be heard over the howling wind. "Oh, and I'd like to see you handle a world-ending vision without spilling your guts at the first opportunity."

Shooting him a filthy glare, Sal subsided into a humming silence.

They'd caught a report of a real doozy of a fight going on at the city's central transport terminal and, on the assumption that Padmé would head for wherever Anakin was, they too were headed there in a speeder that Sal had shanghaied from a side street. He hadn't even stolen a canopied model. Thankfully, the barrier kept the rain from drenching them. The crazy-assed storm had appeared out of nowhere and the wild wind had some pretty sharp teeth, but it was nothing to the constant crash of thunder and vicious spikes of lightening. Parts of the city were already on fire and the destructive fury of the storm was getting worse by the second. All in all, thought Lorne with a shudder, it felt as if the second world was going to hell in a hand basket despite everything being done to save it.

Finally reaching their destination, Sal all but threw the speeder into a parking space, ignoring the droning voice from the automatic parking meter advising him how many credits were required for the privilege. "Ah, shut up!" He snarled at the speaker mesh.

They passed through the main doors at a spring, only to skid to avoid colliding with a figure that seemed to materialise out of nowhere right in front of them. Sal didn't take kindly to the delay and held his blaster at the ready, eyeing the oddly robed man with suspicion. "Who the hell are you?"

"Obi-Wan Kenobi." He made the brief reply to Sal to be polite, but then those familiar blue grey eyes swung to Lorne, crinkling at the corners with a slight smile. "We've met before, you may recall."

Whoa! "You've dropped a few decades since," pointed out Lorne. He was all but goggling.

"A nice trick don't you think?" Kenobi didn't wait for a reply. "I'm afraid that I am once again in a hurry. I need you to trust me and follow me _now_!"

"Kenobi?" echoed Sal, frowning. "You're that other Jedi, right? The one who—"

"I am," interrupted this much younger and cuter Kenobi. "Pardon me, but we really don't have much time. I need your help." Pausing, he added a significant amendment. "Padmé and Anakin need your help."

That got Sal's attention. "Do you know where they are?"

In answer, Kenobi tipped back his head, drawing their gaze to the domed top of the atrium and the flashing blue and red light just visible a long, long way over their heads. "I'm afraid locating them is the easy part, but you can't help them up there. However, you can help me down here and, with a bit of luck, it will all lead to the same thing."

"Help you with what?" asked Lorne. All he could see was the enormous central marbleite statue with its vaguely humanoid form holding up a flaming torch. The rest of the cavernous space contained only empty ticket aisles, bars, cafés and shops hawking every conceivable frivolous object a traveller may feel the urge to waste their credits on.

o~o~o

For Anakin the horror of that moment was indefinable. _Padmé_! In that instant the dynamics of the fight changed utterly for him, seeming to speed up to a frantic, numbing blur over which he had no control.

A beam of UV light hit Sidious full in the face. Anakin lunged to take advantage but met only empty air. The Sith Lord had used the Force to launch himself out of harms way. Filled with dread, Anakin's gaze shot up to the adjacent walkway where Padmé's voice had come from, and found her holding her throat and gasping, fighting for her life with the blaster dangling uselessly at her side. Sidious was Force-choking her—just as newborn Vader had once done. A haze of red dropped over his vision. With a roar of primal rage, Anakin lashed out with a blast of power that slammed Sidious into the wall, releasing Padmé to fall, gagging and wheezing, to the floor.

Anakin couldn't go to her, not yet, but his thoughts were full of her. Sidious had hurt her. This filthy, monstrous demon had hurt Padmé!

The suffocating rage was turned into a weapon that ground the Sith Lord into the wall hard enough to dent the permacrete. "Leave her _alone_!"

"I think not."

Cackling, and invigorated Sidious released the Force shield he'd used to save himself and obliterated the push that pinned him. He then went for Anakin's true weakness again. Before he could do anything to stop it, Padmé was lifted over the safety barrier and into the air and then hurled to the other side of the atrium with enough force to kill her.

Anakin's Force-pull saved her and between the two opposing forces, she was kept hovering, trapped and several feet up in mid-air. It was then that he realised that he'd fallen into a trap. A warning shot into his mind, but not in time to stop the agony that suddenly ripped into every atom of Anakin's body.

Forks of searing blue pain rippled over his vision. He was on fire again. Instead of burning black sand under his wrecked body though, the sand was scorching his body from the inside out. Every nerve shrieked and quivered. His muscles were locked and the spasms wracking his spine threatened to snap him two. It was unbearable. His own and Luke's screams echoed in his head. He knew this agony—had felt it before—and died. With his attention on Padmé, this time Sidious had caught him with his devastating streaks of dark, deadly energy.

This was no slow death designed to draw out every last drop of torment. The intensity was at kill-level, and there was nothing he could do.

He had seconds to live. Despite the unbelievable agony, Anakin kept his greying vision locked on his wife. He wished he'd had a chance to hold her one last time. Still held immobile, Padmé couldn't move her head, but her gaze met his and he saw her pain and grief—and felt it mirrored inside his own chest. His utter despair easily out-ravaged the Force-lightening. Inside his mind, the scream that his pain-locked mouth couldn't release turned into a howl.

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! Forgive me._

He hadn't saved her, or anyone. It was over. Sidious would win and there would be nothing or no one to stop him. He'd failed.

Then he saw her fight to lift a hand—the one holding the blaster. Despite everything she hadn't dropped it. With tears sliding down her cheeks, Padmé managed to bring it up a few inches and three bolts of energy spat from the muzzle. The synapses in his brain managed one last task. In his minds eye, Anakin saw the bolts strike at the transparent alloy under Sidious' feet. Combined with the damage it had already sustained, that section of the transparisteel dome gave way. Sidious, intent only on ending Anakin, did not realise his danger until too late. The Sith Lord stumbled backward in an effort to save himself and slipped. He landed on his back with the violent spiralling forks of energy no longer striking Anakin, but aiming straight up towards the already super-charged sky.

With no strength left in his legs, Anakin could only heave himself up to his knees. He had to dig deep into the dregs of his crumbling reserves of power to cushion Padmé with the Force as she finally fell. At the same moment, a streak of lightening slashed down and struck the dome between them, leaving a smoking hole and taking the blaster she'd dropped with it. More splinter-cracks shot out from the crater in a shockwave. There was no time to crawl for the edge. Another warning streaked over Anakin's consciousness. Still horribly weak and shuddering all over, he managed to crawl so that he was between Padmé and the danger that had risen back to its feet, intent on coming at them again. Sidious' hideous visage was made worse still by the hate and sadistic satisfaction contorting his deformed features further. Certain of his victory, the Sith Lord raised hands that crackled with blue power.

This time Anakin knew that he didn't stand a chance of absorbing and redirecting the deadly energy back at Sidious. Instead, he used his lightsaber and the last of his Force reserves to deflect it once again into the roiling sky above.

Advancing, Sidious intensified the power of his attack.

"If you're not careful, Skywalker, you'll kill your wife for a second time. This tactic of yours will only make my Force Storm more powerful, more deadly, and bring it down on her head. In attempting to kill me, you'll kill us all."

It was then that Anakin had another epiphany. It unfurled in his mind like a Naboo river blossom.

The words seemed to flow out of him, taking his deepest fear with it. "There is nothing either of us can do that can hurt her. She's already saved. Padmé has a place waiting for her in a world where she can't be harmed her and she'll be surrounded by friends. That's not true for the rest of the people in this world. It's for them that I'm going to do what I have to do to destroy you. You've caused enough pain."

We both have, thought Anakin. It all had to end—finally and irrevocably.

o~o~o

Padmé had never felt so helpless, or so horribly and utterly _wrong_. She had underestimated both Palpatine and Anakin. She had known that the Sith Lord was powerful and evil, but hadn't conceived of the strength of that power and evil. She had known that she was risking her own life—had been fully prepared for that—but, she had at least expected to be able to take Sidious with her. Yet, he'd swatted her aside like a bug.

If it hadn't been for Anakin, she would have died for nothing.

Caught, trapped in mid-air, Padmé had had an epiphany too. Her weakness was not so different from Anakin's. She hadn't been able to stand the thought of standing idly by while someone she loved was in danger. So she'd blinded herself to the wrongness and impossibility of her plan and steamed on ahead regardless—just as she had so many times in the past. Admitting defeat just hadn't been an option.

And now Anakin was paying the price. Seeing him in so much pain and torment had ripped her heart asunder and shredded her soul. But that was nothing to torrent of grief she felt at the sight of the love in his eyes as he curled on the floor, writhing—dying. He didn't look away, not once. She couldn't even go to him and hold him, or wipe the tears from his beautiful face and kiss his brow for the last time. The pain of it all was so enormous, so overwhelming that it would surely kill her too. Surely no one could survive heartbreak like this for a second time.

_Gods! And this time it was all her fault._ This was _her_ mistake and she was prepared to beg—do anything—for it not to be a tragic one.

Tears slipped unheeded down her cheeks. When her gaze moved to Sidious, her hand jerked without volition and the blaster almost slipped free from her fingers. Then she noticed the fine cracks on the floor under Palpatine's feet. The idea was barely formed before she began to act on it. Determination rose up to swamp her. The blaster trembled as she exerted every ounce of willpower to defeat the invisible force that pinned her. Sweat dripped down her back as she used every bit of strength. Exhaustion threatened and was battled back. She almost passed out but managed to hold on just long enough. Slowly, tortuously slowly, the blaster muzzle rose, and then she fired.

She saw Palpatine fall and then she was falling herself. Blackness swallowed her whole until Anakin's voice brought back the light.

"_Nothing either of us can do can hurt her. She's already saved. Padmé has a place waiting for her in a world where nothing can harm her and she'll be surrounded by friends. That's not true for the rest of the people in this world. It's for them that I'm going to do what I have to do to destroy you. You've caused enough pain."_

Her eyes snapped open and she lay there stunned. Nothing in life or death had prepared her for the strength of the emotions that suffused her at hearing him utter those words.

_He was willing to let her die._

Until now she hadn't known that she needed to hear exactly that before she could trust him implicitly. It changed everything.

o~o~o

Claws extended and pouring out sparking blue energy, Sidious sneered, "Come now, Anakin. What will you do without Padmé? How will you live with yourself?"

"It won't matter. You said it yourself, we'll all die. Padmé will be safe and you'll be gone. That's enough for me."

"You fool! You delude yourself again. Already your strength is waning and will soon be gone entirely. You alone will die and then I will deal with your beloved wife, _personally_!"

"You won't get a chance to touch her."

As drawn to the savagery of the combatants, lightening crackled and fizzled, striking the sides of the atrium as the skies overhead unleashed its unnatural fury, deflecting back the darkness that was being pumped into it. With each successive strike, plastercrete showered the remains of the dome and the three people on it.

Sidious was right, his strength had not had a chance to recover, but Anakin had already considered that. He had one last sacrifice to make.

Closing his eyes, Anakin called on every moment of pain and grief that he'd ever suffered. He gave himself permission to unlock the fountain of fiery rage that he'd battled for so long to keep covered and hidden. After being dormant for so long, it burned so hotly that it would soon gut itself out utterly. Every horror of the third world was an injection of fuel to that rage. Hatred alone was missing, but it was enough.

When Anakin opened his eyes again they were no longer blue, but amber and ringed with bitter red.

"You forget the dark side, my master."

At the sight, Sidious faltered and for the first time real fear crossed his face. His lips formed a name, but didn't speak it aloud. _Lord Vader_.

o~o~o

In the end it was all so simple. Anakin let the darkness swelling inside himself call to the dark energies that Sidious had already summoned into being, and they answered his call. The howling wind came from all quarters of the city and the black sky above seemed to gather itself to unleash every particle of destruction on this one spot. The pitiful sparks that an increasingly desperate Sidious was still throwing at him in an attempt to save his skin were feeble in comparison. A moment ago simply holding back those streams of energy had been all Anakin could manage, but no longer. He was a conduit for the dark side.

Sidious, however, remained the source, and the fuel.

The amusing irony of it was that he need do no harm. Anakin didn't have to lift a finger. Sidious had done all that was necessary already. With a thunderous crash the world exploded in a searing, blinding flash of white. The skies above Junga Roth—above the terminal's central atrium—unleashed and a jagged flash of lightening that streaked unerringly down to its creator.

Looking up, Sidious had time for a last scream of denial.

Anakin and Padmé were thrown backwards with tremendous force and velocity. For one searing instant, the Sith Lord was lit up from the inside out as the lightening struck him, then he began to char, blacken and burn.

Under the three of them, the remaining dome shattered.

o~o~o

The flash of white light was so intensely powerful that Padmé flung up an arm to shield her eyes. Searing heat mushroomed, but before she could register any burns, she felt her balance shift and went abruptly airborne with dizzying speed. The weightlessness lasted only a moment. Blindly, she sought and found something to cling onto. Her seeking hands found smooth, solid metal and latched on with desperate strength. Her body was left dangling though and instinctively she scrabbled with her feet to find the purchase she needed to haul her body weight up. By the time she'd heaved herself back over the walkway safety barrier, she was at least able to see again.

What she could see was both disorienting and terrifying.

The sun now streaming down the atrium seemed utterly alien and wrong, and for some reason, scared her. How could everything have changed so quickly?

Where was Anakin? And why did it seem as if hours had passed when it could only have been seconds?

She didn't even realise she was sobbing, not until she dragged herself back to her feet and looked back down only to see scream his name, "_Anakin_!"

Her heart leapt straight up into her throat. He was dangling by one hand from the last jagged shards of the dome edge. There were scorch marks on his clothes and face. The other arm hung uselessly at his side and at an odd angle. The hand he was holding on with was bleeding and he was making no attempt to lift himself up. She could see why, the piece he was clinging onto was already working loose.

"Anakin," she sobbed. No matter how hard she tried her own desperately seeking arm couldn't even get close to him. The distance was far too great.

Amber and red eyes stared up into her face. They made her flinch with horror.

"Don't turn away from me, please!" The plea was husky and slurred.

Even though it was a knife to the heart, Padmé forced herself to meet those terrifying eyes again. Her own voice was raw. "Anakin, I don't understand."

And she didn't. After finally realising, far too late, that this was a battle she couldn't partake in, she'd scrambled out of the way and put her trust in her husband.

Around that burning gaze his skin was damp and almost grey in colour. She could see the agony on his face. "I…had to do it—sorry. Only way."

That sounded so final. Too final. Her heart didn't just break it shattered. "_Anakin_! Please! No. You can save yourself. I know you can."

This couldn't' be the end. She'd seen Sidious die, seen his flesh flash-burn to charred black in a micro-second. Anakin had won—only to die too? NO! She couldn't live without him again. Not after finding him again, loving him again. Not when she'd only just realised that there was no longer any need to be afraid.

"Please," she sobbed, "Don't give in. I need you."

"Can't…out of strength. Used it all—won't use other."

He'd used the last of his powers to save her after all, she knew he had. Tears chased one another down her face. There was no other explanation for the fact that there wasn't a mark on her. She couldn't believe it. After all they'd gone through it couldn't possible end this way. This had to be a mistake. It had to be. More of those hot, bitter tears clogged Padmé's throat. Every breath was a rasp. Didn't he know that he was killing her anyway? "I love you. Don't leave me."

As she watched the amber corrupting his irises subsided and they turned back to blue. Their gazes locked and he gave her his tip-tilted smile. "I love you too."

And then he was falling away from her. Padmé's scream of denial ripped free from her throat, but she didn't look away—he'd asked her not to.

**Chapter twenty three**

Anakin was floating. If he had eyes, he couldn't open them, so he tried not to worry about it. The same went for a body that he couldn't feel, never mind move. It was similar to when he'd died as Vader on the Death Star, and yet oddly different too. He wasn't sure that he liked that this time was different. When he'd died before he hadn't known what to expect. He hadn't had a clue about what he'd so nearly become. Not so this time. Was different a good thing or a bad thing? Because fear wanted to rise up, he stopped dwelling on questions that he couldn't answer and let his mind drift. It helped that his love for Padmé was flowing so strong that he wondered at his ability to contain it—a silken thread that linked every thought, tinted ever so slightly by sorrow.

_I love you. Don't leave me._

The raw pain of heartbreak in her voice hurt him too. He'd never meant to cause her a moment of pain ever again. It was the last thing he'd wanted.

In his mind, he cradled her face in his hand and kissed away her tears. _I'm so sorry, Angel. Given a choice I would have stayed at your side forever. Nothing would have ever drawn me away._

He hadn't had a choice though. The fate of too many had rested on defeating Sidious, including Padmé's. He couldn't let that monster get his sick, sadistic hands on her—even for a short time. Who knew better than Vader what Palpatine had been capable of? Sometimes even the monster he'd been had been sickened.

Without willing himself to do so, Anakin began to drift upwards. He knew he was ascending because he could feel himself rising. This awareness was so odd that he gave it his full attention. It was then that he realised that he had a body after all. Wherever he was it was a little chilly. Goosebumps broke out over his skin and still he was blind. The higher Anakin rose the more his memory awakened. Little nuances that he'd missed in the confusion of dying were suddenly clear. He could clearly recall falling. Weakened by the debilitating effects of Force lightening there had been nothing he could do to save himself, and he'd known it. It was all he'd been able to do to lift Padmé up to safety and then hold on long enough to say goodbye.

With her safe, it had been enough. He'd been content with that.

He remembered what came after too; looking up into her beloved, beautiful face he'd felt the last dregs of the dark side leave him, fleeing the love and light filling his heart, mind and soul. He'd clung to that light as he'd fallen, bracing himself for the end.

Strangely, that was the last thing he could clearly remember. Anakin frowned. It was odd but he couldn't remember the end of that thirty-nine storey plunge. He searched, but could find no memory of the impact that must have killed him. His search for details was not entirely unsuccessful though. Dimly, as if in a dream, he recalled a sensation of being caught, as if snatched out of the very air, then voices that spoke to him out of the darkness.

"_I've got you, son. I've got you."_ He recognised Sal's gruff and oddly choked voice.

There had been another, calmer and measured.

"_It's alright, Anakin. Just hold on a little longer. We're nearly there."_

The owner of that voice had once been the second most important and beloved person in the galaxy to him. Anakin's fingers twitched and he formed the name to go with that familiar and comforting voice, whispering it. "Obi-Wan?"

A new voice intruded now, clearer, stronger. Not a memory. "He's coming around alright. Do me a favour and don't get him too excited."

In his minds eye, he drew the face to go with that gravelly and bad tempered voice. A face set into lines of permanent disgruntlement and framed a thick mane of white hair. Doc?

Bewildered, Anakin sought to make sense of the impressions suddenly bombarding him. Fingers were tenderly brushing back his hair, trailing down his cheeks and then tracing his lips in a whisper-soft caress. Then warmth and sweetness replaced the finger, brushing his lips and lingering. When he inhaled, Anakin could smell the unique, mouth-watering scent of her skin.

"Padmé."

~o~

Stunned, Anakin's eyes shot open and met hers.

"Welcome back." Tears trembled on her lashes as Padmé smiled down at him.

Was she really and angel and he hadn't know it? She certainly looked the part with her hair left loose in dark, silken waves and a deceptively simple dress that shimmered down from bare shoulders.

With her arms propped on either side of his head, she made a beautiful cage, and was leaning close enough to kiss. She _had_ been kissing him, he realised, stunned anew. Unless he'd been imagining those caresses and that warm wash of breath on his own lips?

Anakin could only stare, struck dumb. Then an idea occurred to him that was almost too fantastical to be believed. He had to swallow to speak it aloud. "I didn't die."

She shook her head. "No. You didn't die." The tears remained, but the joy on her face was luminous enough to make them sparkle and only added to her lustre. Force! She looked so utterly, mind-numblingly beautiful that he ached just from looking at her.

He hadn't died. Anakin couldn't take it in. "Are you sure?"

"See for yourself."

Padmé leaned back enough so that he could see that he lay on a medical bed with a crisp white sheet cover. She was perched next to his left hip. He lifted his arms and found them pain free and unmarked. The rest of his body seemed to be in perfect working order too. Okay, he thought, that cinched it. This had to be a dream? "I don't get it," he admitted, not even trying to hide his confusion.

Laughing lightly, she snagged the hand nearest to her and brushed it tenderly against her cheek. Then put him out of his misery of confusion. "Obi-Wan saved you, with a little bit of help from Sal and Lorne. You've been in bacta for over ten days but you're fine now." With her free hand, she reached out to tuck away another stray curl from his brow. "In fact, if I didn't know better, I wouldn't believe that you'd just put yourself through an ordeal that would have killed anyone else. You're very lucky." After a taut beat, she added softly, "We both are."

Obi-Wan had saved him? The wonder he felt at hearing that news rode alongside other emotions that he just wasn't up to dealing with right now, so Anakin concentrated on Padmé. Hardly an effort when she seemed resolved to touch him as much as possible. That and the look in her eyes made his breath catch in his chest.

The urge to sit up and gather her in his arms was so powerful that only the fear of finding out that this really was nothing more than an illusion kept him unmoving. A part of Anakin still wasn't convinced that this was real and not a dream. It all seemed too good to be true.

"We're you hurt?" he asked huskily. "I tried to get you far enough away—"

"I was fine, although I wished I was dead when I watched you fall." The memory dulled her glow to the point of pure and utter bleakness. Her fingers tightened around the hand she was still holding against her cheek. Liquid dark eyes held his with mesmerising intensity. "I never want to feel like that again, Anakin."

Something indefinable, glorious and terrifyingly delicate hovered in the air between them. Anakin's heartbeat turned heavy, thick and slow. Testing, and because he _had_ to know, he levered up, caught the back of her neck with his other hand and pulled her in for a kiss. When their lips met he didn't need to coax her mouth open. She matched his heat and when her tongue tentatively touched his he shuddered as need escalated to unbearable. Softness, drugging sweetness and warmth waited for him when he hungrily slanted his mouth and took the kiss deeper.

When the door to his medical room swept open behind her, Anakin wanted to howl with frustration, and then murder whoever had interrupted them.

When the door to his medical room swept open behind her, Anakin wanted to howl with frustration, and then murder whoever had interrupted them.

"I thought I told you not to get him excited," grouched Doc to Padmé. When she got up and took the seat nearest the bed, his stony gaze settled on Anakin. "As for you, if you're feeling that frisky you can discharge yourself. I need the damned bed. This isn't a hotel."

Walking over to the bed in question, he pulled a light pen from his pocket and began shining it Anakin's eyes.

"I'd be happy to give it up for someone else—if I had some clothes. I'm not big on walking around naked."

"You could walk around covered in nothing but pink goo and wearing a fricken' Kowakian monkey-lizard as a hat and nobody would give a poodoo," retorted Doc. "Hell, it'd probably boost the holonet ratings and add to your legion of adoring fans." Brusquely, he gestured over his shoulder. "Find something to look at in the top right corner of the room and follow the light."

First, Anakin looked to Padmé for an explanation of what Doc had been talking about, only to see her shake her head and mouth 'later'.

"I'm surprised you're still here," said Anakin, doing what he'd been ordered. "What happened to playing hermit? I thought you'd be buried in a cave somewhere by now."

"This place is even nuttier than I remember it being, but even I can't turn my back on thousands of sick and wounded. They needed all the help they could get, which means I'm staying put for now. The cave'll wait." Flipping the pen over, Doc jammed it under Anakin's chin to take a reading of his pulse.

"And we're very grateful for the help," interjected Padmé, soothingly.

Doc just grunted. "You're bioscans have all come up perfectly healthy—which beats the hell out of me considering the state you arrived in. I'm going to check your reflexes and them I'm releasing you," he told Anakin. "I'm sure a resourceful hero like you can scrounge yourself some coverings till you get where you're going." He shrugged, "If not, I guess I'll be dealing with some cardiac arrests in the older generation. It'll make a change from bite wounds."

"It's fine. I already have some clothes for you," Padmé assured Anakin, seeing his scowl and heading him off.

~o~

The clothes Padmé had brought for him fit as if they'd been made for him. Anakin showered and dressed in the simple outfit of pants, tunic-shirt, boots and cloak faster than he'd ever dressed himself before. She'd left the room to allow him to dress in privacy and he couldn't shake that fear that when he stepped out to find her she would have disappeared on him.

As far as he was concerned their 'talk' had only been delayed. His instincts had been right, she _had_ changed towards him and he had no intention of letting enough time pass that she changed back to being distant and reserved. If she did, he would probably—no, make that definitely—go insane. Not going to happen. She'd responded to his kiss, he told himself. Kidnapping wasn't out of the question.

Then there was the fact that he'd been so dazed and disoriented that he hadn't asked about the others. Feeling every bit as jittery and nervous as he had at nineteen and about to see her for the first time in ten years, Anakin walked out of the hospital room.

Outside was chaos.

People were milling everywhere. The corridor was crammed with them. Ordinarily, Anakin would have found that a distinct nuisance, but it was oddly reassuring to see for himself that enough of the city's citizens had survived the Narzgh invasion to actually cause a crush. A nearby Clawdite male—Anakin assumed he was male but you could never be sure with a changeling—halted to stare at him, then turned to whisper to the Twi'lek standing at his side. From there it mushroomed. Whispers hissed from one ear to another and soon everyone had stopped moving and turned to stare at him, those that couldn't do so easily craned their necks or jabbed elbows, if they had them, into their neighbours to make room.

Abruptly, Anakin felt like an exhibit in a space zoo. As he couldn't think of a single thing to say, he started looking for escape routes. Hearing Padmé call his name decided him on which one to take. Sliding through a miniscule gap between a rake-thin human female and an equally slender Munn, Anakin dodged and weaved and left what apologies were necessary in his wake. Huffing out a relieved breathe to be free of the worst section of gaping sentients, he grabbed the hand of an amused Padmé on-route and took her with him to complete his escape.

He avoided the turbo lifts when he saw the length of the queue waiting for them and headed for the stairs, still tugging Padmé behind him. He waited for the main exit of the medical centre to come into view before he spoke. "Well, that was interesting," he said dryly. "I don't suppose you'd care to explain why they were staring? Do I have something stuck between my teeth?"

"Consider the last few weeks," she returned, equally dry. "I'm sure it'll come to you."

He frowned. "Vader or the third world?"

"Excuse me?"

"What is it they're obsessing over, my being Vader or returning from the third world?"

"Both and more," she told him. "Anakin, thanks to Natar the Core is covered in security cameras. The media hounds unearthed the whole battle, and your numerous duels, within days of them happening. Trust me, people would rather watch repeats being run of those than the horrors that were also recorded. You're a hero and it makes them feel better to—" she stumbled over the word but then had to agree "—obsess. It's only natural."

He stopped in his tracks, appalled. "Tell me you're joking," he pleaded.

Her lips twitched. "They're making bronzium figurines of you even as we speak."

_Kriff!_ "What about you," he accused, "And Freyrr, Sal and Lorne? Hell, what about Jester and his gang of bounty hunters? Don't they get to share some of this too?"

"We're just the support cast. You're the star," she told him, trying to look sombre but foiled by the twinkle in her dark eyes. "If we're lucky, we might end up as the background for a mood theme in a public park."

As a distraction from his nerves about Padmé it was unrivalled. They needed to get out of here. Anakin gauged the distance between where they stood and the exit—a dozen meters at least. Hundreds more people were standing between him and open space. Suddenly it seemed like it would be a major feat just to get there. "Come on," he said grimly, and got them moving again.

The pace was slow considering the massive foyer was also full to bursting. To distract himself and draw less attention Anakin decided some conversation was in order, and asked, "About Lorne and the others. How are they doing? Did they all make it?"

"Everyone is fine," she assured him. "In fact, we were all in a lot better than shape than you once the fight was over."

That pricked his pride. "I had a lot to contend with." Then, "What about Obi-Wan, where is he?"

"He's been back a few times since that day, helping out and checking on you. He said to tell you to expect him with a day or so of you coming around."

"Right." Anakin would believe it when he saw it. He'd given up hoping for an actual honest to Force talk with Obi-Wan Kenobi. One day he might even convince himself that it didn't matter. Until then, he put it out of his mind.

At last, they'd reached the main exit doors. Anakin went through first, still firmly grasping Padmé's hand. And walked into what seemed like a wall of flashing white lights and hurled questions.

"_Jedi Skywalker. How did it feel to face the Emperor in a duel to the death?"_

"_Anakin look over here. Here. This way. Great. That's a great shot."_

"…_did you know going in that you might die? What were you thinking when you fell?"_

"_Premier…elections. Will you stand as a nominee?"_

"_Councillor Amidala, will you officially change your name to Skywalker?"_

A thicket of microphones bristled in front of both of them. Anakin stopped on the top step, because he had no choice unless he wanted to use a Force wave to clear a path. It was horribly tempting.

"_Councillor Amidala_," called one of the hordes. "_Does your husband know that you turned down the position of temporary Premier in favour of your colleague Obonè._"

That news hit Anakin let a bombshell. He tensed, electrified, and slowly swung so that he was staring at Padmé. He hadn't known. She hadn't said a word. Rather than look at him, she dropped his hand and stepped closer to the microphones. An expectant hush fell over the jostling crowd of reporters.

"I believe that Premier Obonè will make an exceptional leader for many reasons. First and foremost, her attention will be fully focused on the rebuilding of Junga Roth as a city that all of its citizens can be proud of and feel secure in. For myself, I'm more than content to remain on the council and offer what assistance I can. My duties in that role are enough to keep me busy. But, most important of all, I want to concentrate on my marriage. My husband almost died and now I want to spend time with him. Thank you."

~o~

Anakin was shaking and didn't seem able to stop himself, or calm down. That double-damned media ambush had thrown him for a loop and he was still no nearer to finding solid ground. He knew it was wrong to be all but dragging Padmé along behind him, but he desperately needed to find somewhere private. He'd happily grovel for forgiveness later, but right now he needed the answers to some questions and it just couldn't wait. If he waited, he might just go crazy after all. So, he ignored her protests and continued to search for somewhere to talk without being overheard.

They were on the street. He didn't recognise it and didn't care. Unlike the medical centre it wasn't busy. Obviously the Core wasn't yet up to full speed yet; something else he didn't have time to care about. At last, he spotted an alley and darted across the sparsely used traffic lanes to reach it. With Padmé in tow, he skirted the vendor selling unidentifiable fried meat in a wedge of flat bread and headed down it. The tart smell of Arcanian puree followed them down the alley for several meters. Padmé had fallen into a simmering silence not long after they'd escaped the clutches of the reporters, mainly because he'd refused to answer her queries about what was wrong. Anakin didn't need the Force to sense that she was both hurt and furious; the tension in her arm told him that anyway. He didn't blame her, but it didn't stop him.

Once they'd gone far enough that he judged they wouldn't be interrupted, he halted, let go of the hand he'd imprisoned and stepped away for two paces before swinging to face her. In the pell-mell of his headlong rush, the hood of her cloak had fallen to reveal the dark mass of her hair. Her cheeks were flushed and sparks of temper were shooting out from her eyes as Padmé glared at him. "What in chaos has got into you?" she stormed at him.

She had, as always.

Anakin sucked in a breath that his too-tight chest struggled to accept. "I apologise, but I need to talk to you and it can't wait."

"About what?"

Where to start? "You know I love you more than life itself. You also know that you've just offered me heaven on a plate. And I want to grab that plate with both hands and hold tight, but—"

She threw up her hand when he faltered. "But _what_, Anakin?"

Her furious prompt made him explode, it came out in a hot gush of edgy words, "When I woke up in that hospital bed to find you kissing me, I didn't care why. All that mattered was that, for whatever reason, you'd changed towards me. Then I hear you talking about our marriage…and being a wife to me, and I know it sounds insane, but—" Stopping, Anakin raked a hand through his hair. Force! How to explain it?

"But what?" Padmé repeated, calmer and yet hoarse too.

He could feel the tension in her and recognised it as being identical to his own. He felt as if his whole future was at stake. The trembling got so bad that Anakin folded his arms tight across his chest simply to try and hide the tremors. He desperately wanted to pace but forced himself to remain still.

His mouth was so dry that he had to swallow. "Now I need to know why. I need to know if all of this is just some knee-jerk reaction to you thinking that I was dead. Am I going to wake up one morning to find you looking at me with fear and mistrust in your eyes? I can't—that would—I wouldn't be able to handle that." Anakin felt himself quake just from thinking about it. "Padmé, I need to know what's brought on this change. I need to know if you've turned down the premiership because you're worried that I'm going to get power mad by proxy or something."

For a long moment, she didn't say a word and just stared up at him. The simmering silence made him want to beat his head against the nearest hard surface and put himself out of his misery. Instead, all he could do was wait and it was agony.

Then tears filled her eyes and sagging a little, she lifted a trembling hand to her mouth. Finally, she spoke, "Oh, Anakin. No. Gods. I thought—never mind, it doesn't matter. You've got it wrong. You've got it all wrong."

"Then explain it to me." He couldn't manage more than a whisper through the tightness of his throat.

Anakin must have blinked, because the next moment she was right there, standing on tip-toe so that she could reach up and frame his face with her hands. As usual, Padmé had seen right through his defences to his misery. "Its okay, I'll explain. I'm happy to explain. I was going to when we got home anyway. I guess I didn't realise it would be so important to you or I wouldn't have waited."

It was a relief, but it wasn't enough. He needed it all. Anakin slid his hands around her waist to support her and keep her pressed against him. She paused to marshal her thoughts, but didn't drop her gaze even for a moment. "You were willing to let me die. I know it sounds stupid, but it makes all the difference to me." When he went to speak, Padmé laid a hand over his lips to shush him. "I love you so much, I always have, but I was afraid of what might happen if I let myself be with you. No matter how I looked at it, I couldn't get over your fear of loss—and our past—not until I heard you tell Sidious what you did."

Anakin jerked, he couldn't help it. All of this was the last thing he'd expected to hear. Understanding him as no one else ever could, Padmé smiled and strained up that extra little bit needed to kiss him with exquisite softness before pulling back to continue. "I _heard_ you, Ani, and I felt so much joy in my heart that I can't possibly describe it to you. This world, even without Sidious, is a dangerous place and while I knew that you'd changed, I didn't know if it was enough—not for certain—until then." Her smile turned wry. "In those few minutes you gave me both the best and the worst moments of the last twenty three years of my life—just because you were willing to let me go."

If she'd been luminous before, she was radiant now. "I love you Anakin and I want to be with you. I don't care about being Premier. I meant what I said back there. I want to be your wife in all the ways that I couldn't be before, in public and with no secrets."

She stepped away and he released her reluctantly, only to find that she was holding out her hands in invitation. "Come home with me, Ani?"

FINIS

NOTE (2) This isn't really the end. There's a fair sized epilogue coming, including some steamy lovin', an Anakin and Obi-Wan meeting with some more explanations and questions answered, as well as some tidbits on the others and what's going on with them. Plus some snap shots of the future.

I know I said that the next post would be the last, but this one is already just shy of 30 pages and I decided that I couldn't add more without risking giving folks eye strain. I'm hoping to have the rest up for you by next weekend.

On the topic of steamy lovin', obviously I have to be careful of ratings. When it is posted next week, I plan on having a younger readers version, which will be posted at both and Jedi Council Forums. The full adult version will be available for those that request it (NOT via pm, pretty please!) and I'll send along a link to where it is when it's ready.


	21. PG Epilogue

UNSIGNED REVIEWS:

**Kibu2u** – Wow! Thank you so much. I'm thrilled to bits that you've enjoyed it so much, and hugely relieved that the end has been a satisfying one for you—something is a big fear for me, lol. I hate thinking that I've been able to catch someone's imagination with a story and then botched it. I'm so, so glad that isn't the case. Hugs!

**mlhkvh5** – I was delighted to share Purgatory with whoever was interested, hun, but I have to give out a special thank you to you and my other reviewers. So THANK YOU! I'm chuffed and delighted and tickled pink beyond I can say that you've enjoyed my story! I hope you enjoy the epilogue equally. Helen X

**NOTES**: (1) _Grr! – This thing with ffnet not translating what's on my screen properly is driving me nuts! Sorry, but my mini scene breaks haven't been showing properly: (o~o~o is for a full scene break and ~o~ is for a mini/POV break). It is fixed now! If anyone decides to reread and spots anything that seems odd, i.e. a change of scene or POV without these symbols to prepare you, please, please let me know!_

***More notes are at the end of the epilogue.**

**Epilogue**

Anakin wished that he didn't remember the journey to the Transvision Tower. It would have been so much easier if it had passed on swift wings and in a blur of bliss. Instead, the air taxi seemed to take forever. Whereas before both air and ground traffic had been light, now it seemed to have trebled in volume. It was all he could do not to wrest the controls from the garrulous Gungan driver and proceed to break all traffic codes to get where they were going _faster_.

He and Padmé were sat together as closely as possible on the rear passenger seat of the taxi with their hands clasped. Anakin would have liked to be able to talk to her as a rational person with a degree of civilisation and aplomb, except he couldn't. He knew his face was probably granite hard as he stared off in the distance and exerted every drop of self-control. He didn't dare turn his head and look into her eyes, though, for fear of risking a public sensation that would embarrass her. He knew this absurd reaction embarrassed _him_. Unbelievably, he felt as if he truly was an impetuous twenty-three year old again with all of the (lack of) patience and finesse of youth.

Her heat and softness pressed to his side was a siren call exceeded only by the scent of her; a mouth-watering, insanity-inducing scent that he took deep into his body with every inhalation. Luckily for him, Padmé didn't seed to mind that he wasn't being the attentive and charming lover that she deserved. At last, the prime residential tower where she lived came into view. She turned her head as the driver slowed to approach the correct landing pad and brushed a kiss to his shoulder. Force! Was she teasing him? Anakin felt the shiver down to his boots and slid his eyes closed. He was so tense that coloured lights danced along his eyelids.

He would _not_ pounce the moment they were alone, he vowed. Such behaviour might have been acceptable back when he'd been a Jedi and she'd been a senator and all they'd had was stolen hours between month-long missions, but not now. Now was different. Okay, so he'd gone from utterly alone and grieving for her for decades to yearning from a distance over the last six months, but that was no excuse.

None whatsoever. He could still taste her from that last mind-blowing kiss.

She paid the taxi. He unlocked the entrance with the generic code and called for the turbo lift. Inside, she keyed in the security code that would get the lift moving the two floors left to her apartment. A humming silence reigned. His borrowed cloak was enveloping enough that his hands were hidden in the folds, so he could fist them without giving himself away. The lift began to ascend with a subtle jerk. Anakin had no idea if the vibration running through his body was from the upward velocity of the lift or his own rampaging tension.

The lift doors slid back to reveal the sleekly modern foyer of her apartment. Guts churning, Anakin let Padmé precede him out of the lift and stiffly followed. They didn't make it out of the foyer. There was no conscious decision, he simply used his longer stride to catch her up and reached out to snag her elbow. Swinging her back to face him, he curved his other hand around her nape and pulled her in for a kiss. "I'm sorry, I can't wait," he said against her opening mouth, then urgently swept inside.

o~o~o

Afterwards, they slept for an hour and then showered together. Finally hunger then kicked in. Watching while Padmé rummaged for something to eat, Anakin couldn't remember the last time that he'd felt so completely and utterly at peace. His body felt weighted, but in a good way with muscles that felt fluid and as smooth as silk. He could sleep for a week, but contrarily felt as if he had the energy to hike the range of mountains encircling Junga Roth. Most important of all, his heart was full to bursting.

"I love you so much," he said, unable to keep it inside. Their eyes met over the bowl of fruit she laid on the counter between them. The peach robe she'd slipped on was gathered high at her waist and then flowed to her bare toes. Dark eyes melted and lit from the inside with her smile. Picking up a bunch of Rothian red grapes, she picked one and held it to his lips in invitation. He accepted and let her pop the sweet fruit inside, taking care to nip her fingers before she could retreat. In the Force, he felt her pulse leap and her laugh was breathless, making his own smile stretch.

"I meant to ask," he said. "Where's Freyrr? I thought she shared this apartment with you. Also, what happened to your chirpy droid?"

"I sent Dee for a tune-up and a bath, the luxury version, which should take at least twenty four hours. We won't be seeing her, or Ceetee who went with her, until morning. As for Freyrr, she has a new job now," replied Padmé, walking to the food synthesizer when it pinged to advise that the programme was finished. "She's Obonè's new bodyguard with her own rooms in the palace and a private garden."

The platter of fish and steamed vegetables was hot and billowing with steam. Anakin walked around to retrieve it for her and placed it on the counter. He frowned, startled by the news. "You surprise me. I would have thought nothing would have induced her to leave you."

Padmè's smile was impish. "I cajoled her into it by persuading her that I no longer needed guarding around the clock. She's a Wookiee," she reminded him, taking down glasses and a decanter of ruby-coloured wine, "and Wookiees prefer open spaces. The apartment never did suit her, but she coped for me."

"I see." He waited until she sat down and then started to dish out the delicious smelling food for both for both of them. Another smile was tugging at his lips when he asked, "Was Milady planning for me to take up the slack bodyguard-wise with Freyrr otherwise occupied?"

"The thought did occur to me. Not that I really need a bodyguard anymore."

Maybe not, but she'd always have one. "In that case, I accept the position." Anakin inclined his head, adding tongue-in-cheek, "Is it a live-in role?"

"Oh, yes, living in is absolutely essential. There might even be added benefits, if you impress me."

The challenge gleaming in her eyes made _his_ pulse leap. He lifted a brow. "In that case I'll have to give it my best shot. I'd hate to have you be disappointed."

With that Padmé's gaze dropped demurely to her plate. She changed the subject to other things and he enjoyed the ease with which she calmed the simmering tension that rose so easily between them. That skill would be necessary over the coming months, he realised a trifle ruefully. Maybe even years. He couldn't imagine a time when he would ever take their being together for granted.

With hunger satisfied, she took him into the snug. Informal seating and relaxation was the dominant theme of the room. She waited until he took a seat next to her on the couch to scoot over and curl into him, tucking her feet under her hips. Her head came to rest on his shoulder. Wrapping an arm around her to keep her anchored, Anakin laid his chin on her hair, closing his eyes to breathe her in. Peace settled over them like a comforting cloak. "Tell me about Sal and Lorne and the others," he asked. "Did Jester make it too?"

"I have a confession to make on that topic," so saying, she tipped back her head to look at him with mischief gleaming in her eyes. "They wanted to be there when you woke up, but I persuaded them to wait until tomorrow. I wanted you all to myself for today."

He dropped a kiss on her nose for that admission, and then she continued. "Sal is busier than ever with flying the Limidian—he's missing his co-pilot, he insists I tell you. Lorne is back at Caritas and revelling in being the hottest ticket in town. As for Jester, he's fine, if a little perturbed to find himself considering a legitimate career." Her lips twitched, "Obonè has plans to reform him _and_ his bounty hunters. There's also talk about reviewing the security situation in Roth." She paused and peeked a glance at him. "A topic she wants to talk to you about."

That gave him pause. His brows snapped together in a bemused frown. "Me? Why me?"

"You'll have to ask her. I was more interested in the role _I_ wanted you to fill."

She was prevaricating, but he didn't pursue it. He didn't want to think of a future beyond this day for as long as possible. "Tell me what happened after I fell."

Hesitantly at first, she did, but she was soon caught up enough that the details flowed. Most of what she had to relate was second-hand as she had been with him in the atrium. Freyrr, Sal and Lorne had apparently separated in an attempt to locate Padmé; with Sal and Lorne being ultimately more successful—only to be diverted by Obi-Wan. Having convinced them to follow him, Anakin's old Jedi master had then chivvied them into creating a braking system for a predicted fall, for which Lorne had been responsible; which would then be followed up by a speeder flown by Obi-Wan himself with Sal next to him. The tricky bit, she told him, had apparently been the timing. Sidious, charred, dead and barely recognisable, had fallen first. The braking system had been no more complex than a hastily erected barrier made up of compound that could be sprayed into an instant-hardening sheet of thin, flexible plastiflex. The height of Anakin's fall and the amount of area to be covered had made it impossible for it to break his fall completely, but it did slow his descent enough that Obi-Wan had been able to get underneath him so that Sal could catch him.

Anakin winced at how easily it could have all gone wrong, then smiled down at Padmé when he spotted the shadows in her dark eyes, suggesting that she was thinking along the same lines. It _had_ worked, and that was all that mattered.

He distracted her with others questions. Obonè had not remained inactive while all of this was happening. As soon as the barrier was back to normal and the Narzgh either dead or trapped in sheltered areas, she began arranging sorties into the Core with the aim of driving them out before night fell. She'd also got the communications organised so that she could speak directly to the survivors in the Core, getting the message through that now was the time to fight back. Those that could had rallied to her call. Still, it had taken quite a few days before they were certain that only a few pockets of Narzgh remained hidden. Even now, hunting parties were still in operation and armed with UV.

Meanwhile most of the refugees that had fled into the forest had returned—or the survivors had—apparently it hadn't been a picnic there either. Rebuilding in the Core was begun and the blast doors separating the Core and Outer Rim were already removed. The best news of all—and Padmé was glowing when she told him—was that Zarc Wess had been able to extend the barrier to cover the whole city. For the first time in three quarters of a century, Roth was protected equally no matter where you lived and worked.

The bad news was the harrowing tally of dead and missing and the numbers were still growing. One million were confirmed as dead, another three hundred thousand were missing and the numbers of wounded and maimed came in at just under a hundred thousand. A little under a half of the Core had been decimated in less than a full day. It turned out that Petris Lyonides' final legacy was only a little less catastrophic than his fathers had been.

Tears shimmered, then began to flow down Padmé's cheeks as she told Anakin about the horrors they'd found in the aftermath. He could easily imagine what kind of nightmares they'd walked into while searching the city, and would be forever grateful that she hadn't been able to feel their utter despair, agony and torment as he had. He knew she would have been strong; no tears would have fallen while in public. Lifting her into his lap, he stroked her hair as she purged herself now. When she was finished, he gave her the only comfort he could and took the same for himself. For the second time in a few hours, Anakin carried her to bed. Darkness had settled over Roth before Padmé's hands slipped off his shoulders for the final time and she fell into an exhausted slumber. As soon as she had, Anakin curved himself protectively around her and followed.

o~o~o

Anakin woke to a quiver in the Force that brought him to full alert. Reaching out with the Force, he realised that it wasn't so much a disturbance as a…call. Lifting his head from beside Padmé's, Anakin attempted to pinpoint the source. What he found was a nagging sense of familiarity and _rightness_. The call tugged at him again, impossible to ignore. With infinite care, he pulled away from his still sleeping wife, stopping only to pull on his pants before padding out of the bedroom and across the apartment. The Force guided his feet to the foyer. Moonlight gleamed on the floors and furniture, sliding briefly over his chest as he moved quickly and silently. Following his instincts, he stopped at the turbo lift controls and released it, an action that caused the foyer lights to illuminate automatically. Moments later, he heard the lift stop and watched as the doors slid apart. A figure from his past stepped out.

"Obi-Wan," he said dumbly. It didn't matter that a part of him had known who he was inviting into his home, it was still a shock.

This was no old man. Dark blonde hair that was perhaps a mere shade lighter than Anakin's own fell in short waves around a familiar bearded, unlined face. The earth-tones of his Jedi robes were the same as twenty years ago and as pristine as ever.

"Hello, Anakin," said Obi-Wan. A gentle smile lifted his features. "I had a yen to see the dawn over the city, and then thought I'd see if you were awake. I hope I'm not interrupting?"

"No. No, it's fine. I'm awake." Anakin had to swallow a lump in his throat. "It's good to see you." And it was, it really, really was.

In response, Obi-Wan stepped closer, reaching out to clasp his arms with genuine affection. "And it's good to see you too, old friend. More than I can say."

Anakin's head swam, assailed by memories that choked him with a tumult of emotions, none of which he had a clue how to express. _Obi-Wan was here!_ He was utterly unprepared for this meeting having half convinced himself that his one-time master would continue to avoid him. However, there was at least one sentiment Anakin could express with confidence and he grasped it with relief. "Thank you for saving me," he said with utter sincerity.

"You're very welcome." Obi-Wan dropped his hands and folded them while amusement glimmered in his eyes. "So, what's the score now, thirty eight to nine or some such rubbish, I suppose?"

Anakin blinked and then it hit him. Obi-Wan was referring to their old game of 'who'd saved who'. More memories washed over him. "No, master," he said slowly and very carefully. "I believe you've just surged ahead."

"I have the utmost faith that you'll catch up," was the reply, still ripe with amusement. "May I come in?" Without waiting for a reply, Obi-Wan took the initiative and led the way into the apartment itself. Anakin turned to dumbly follow. He hadn't yet taken his eyes off him—the man who had been father and brother to him before Vader had ever contorted that love and respect into irrational hatred.

"It's a nice apartment," noted Obi-Wan looking about him with interest. "It's not quite 500 Republica, but still specious and pleasant enough all the same."

"Thanks." Awkwardly Anakin wondered if he should go and get a shirt. "It's Padmé's apartment, I've been staying elsewhere…until now. Er, would you like some caf?" Mindful of Padmé sleeping, he led the way to the kitchen.

"I wouldn't say no if you're offering."Obi-Wan sat down at the table while Anakin busied himself with the drinks dispenser. "You look in considerably better health than the last time I saw you," he commented. "And, if I may say so, a great deal happier than I've seen you in a long time."

"I am happy. Happier than I've ever been before." Anakin glanced over while the caf poured. "And, something tells me that I have you to thank for that too."

Obi-Wan adopted his innocent look. "I have no idea what you mean."

Despite his awkwardness, Anakin's lips twitched. "Don't try and deny it. You intervened for me, didn't you? Back when I died on the Death Star."

"I might have spoken a few words in the right ears," Obi-Wan finally admitted, accepting the cup passed to him. "But, it was only possible because of the sacrifice you made." A spasm of discomfort passed over his face, "And…one or two other considerations."

Anakin took the seat opposite him, cradling his own caf in one hand. Frowning, he asked, "And, what were those _considerations_?"

"Well, mostly it was the fact that this world needed you almost as much as you needed it." Obi-Wan raised the cup in a salute. "A point amply confirmed by your recent victory."

"So, it _was_ planned," mused Anakin. He wasn't at all sure how he felt about that idea.

"Not so much planned, as a conscious move to take an opportunity for a dual purpose to be served in the event of certain circumstances arising," corrected Obi-Wan.

"Right," nodded, Anakin, darkly amused. "Whatever that means."

"It means that the point was for you to have a second chance. A chance to redeem. A chance for a life not blighted by a destiny that seemed resolved on forcing decisions on you, and those around you, that could lead only to darkness and evil."

And a chance to be with Padmé, Anakin silently added. He lifted his own cup to hide his smile. "Ahh, the Negotiator returns. You always did have a way with words while I stumbled around like a wild gundark." He inclined his head. "Either way you have my sincere thanks once again—and I think that you've just increased your lead."

"You don't have to thank me. It was my fondest wish to see you as you are now, at peace and content. You were my brother and my friend, Anakin," he explained gently when Anakin slid him a questioning look. "You have no idea how much I grieved after you fell to the dark side."

_You were the Chosen One! It was said that you would, destroy the Sith, not join them. It was you who would bring balance to the Force, not leave it in Darkness. You were my brother, Anakin. I loved you._

It was a punch to the gut to hear Obi-Wan's voice from that day, made worse by the fact that he was sitting across a table from him at the same time. It somehow hurt more to remember that, given the chance, he would have destroyed Obi-Wan, instead of the other way around.

He sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to return that steady gaze. "There are no words that can convey my remorse to you. I made many mistakes and allowed myself to be blinded to the truth. I was utterly and completely wrong."

"I know how much you regret it all, Anakin. Have no fear." There was a pause. Not so much awkward as thoughtful. Then Obi-Wan leaned back in his seat, and did what he'd once been wont to do just to drive Anakin crazy—changed the subject entirely. "Sidious is gone by the way, permanently this time. In case you were wondering if he might be popping back up at some point."

Apologies had never been his strong suit, so for once he was more than happy to change the topic. "I'm relieved to hear it considering I've killed him twice now," he said dryly.

"I assure you that there won't be a third. He's a spirit-shade now, completely without physical form and left to drift in torment in the third world. Neither Sidious nor Maul will be making any reappearances."

"And Dooku, what of him?"

"Let's just say that his case is being reviewed—but don't hold your breath."

It was the perfect opening. Rising to dump his barely touched caf into the disposal unit, Anakin kept his back turned to broach the issue that had jumped to the forefront of his mind the moment he'd seen Obi-Wan walk out of that lift. Tensely he asked, "And me, what about my case? Is that still up for review?"

"Not at all." Anakin risked a glance back and found that Obi-Wan's smile was unashamedly proud. "You're redeemed, Anakin. It seems that you've dropped your penchant for recklessness in favour of one for self-sacrifice." Obi-Wan straightened to lean on the table with his hands clasped. "The first time aboard the Death Star earned you your second chance, the one that ended Sidious _again_ was enough to redeem you. Whatever happens now, you need no longer fear becoming a Narzgh."

"Even though I used the dark side to do it?"

"Is that what you did?" asked Obi-Wan quietly. "Is that really what you did? Or, did you merely reflect back the evil that he'd already wrought? Were you not surprised at how easily you sloughed it off, as if it were merely a borrowed cloak that disguised you for a few moments? Force storm is not purely a dark side power, Anakin. Jedi might use it only rarely, but we have used it."

Anakin was taken aback. "I don't know. I didn't think of it like that, or at all if I could help it. I just did it." He shrugged at the admittance. "You know I've never been one for philosophical debates."

That earned him a laugh. "All too true, a foible I recall finding endlessly frustrating when you were my padawan, and beyond now I think on it."

This time they shared the smile brought on by that oddly fond reminisce. Anakin felt his muscles relax one by one. Leaning back against the counter, he crossed his arms over his chest. "I was a sore trial to you, master."

"Occasionally, but I would say that the good times outweighed the bad." Obi-Wan's voice turned a shade wistful. "We made a good team back in the old days."

"We did, but—is this a craving for adventure, Master Kenobi? I thought that you preferred the quiet life."

"Life in the first world can get a little _too_ quiet," Obi-Wan wagged a finger, "although, if you ever repeat that to the likes of Master Yoda, I will deny it, vehemently."

"Don't worry my lips are sealed. Although if all that peace does get to be too much. I'm sure I can find you some…excitement to get embroiled in here. There's this club I know—" Anakin stopped himself and left the sentence hanging, surprised at how easy it had been to slip back into old bantering habits.

"As delightful as that sounds," said Obi-Wan slowly. "I have to wonder of the second world is prepared for two Jedi strolling around its streets and sampling the local beverages? I recall a few smallish cities that we had to fight our way out of after a small _misunderstanding_, shall we say."

The stab of pain was surprising in its intensity. Anakin shook his head, trying to shrug it off. "I haven't been a Jedi for many years, Obi-Wan, so I doubt the problem will arise."

Only to be the recipient of a familiar blank stare. "Don't be too hasty, Knight Skywalker."

Obi-Wan's hand rested on what looked like a pile of clothing. A glance confirmed the presence of a cloak, robes and what looked suspiciously like a leather tabard. They hadn't been on the table only a moment ago.

Suspicious and confused, Anakin pushed away from the counter to approach the table again, waving a hand at the pile. "What's this?"

"Your Jedi robes. I thought you might like to be wearing something familiar while you keep the peace around here. Of course, if you prefer different apparel I can assure you that no one will complain. As I understand it, the new Jedi order is really quite relaxed about such things. Myself, I'm a traditionalist," Obi-Wan canted his head, "on this topic at least."

"Obi-Wan—"

"What happened to 'master'?"

Anakin was beginning to recall with crystal clarity that the frustration in their relationship had gone both ways. He scowled and dropped back into his seat. "I remembered that I'm not a Jedi anymore."

Abruptly, Obi-Wan's gaze turned sombre, all humour and teasing vanishing. "The choice is yours, Anakin. Myself and the others would like you to be the knight that you were meant to be. Luke said it himself, remember. _I am a Jedi like my father._ You were meant to be a Jedi and you've proven beyond a doubt that you _can_ be."

He was being serious.

Anakin could only stare, frozen in place and almost numb with shock. Could he really be a Jedi again, was such a thing even wise, or desirable? Confusion reigned when he realised just how much he _did_ want to be a Jedi again. He hadn't let himself consider it, so it came as a complete surprise. He'd once defined his life by only two things: being a Jedi and Padmé's husband—and then thrown away both. Obi-Wan was offering him the last important part of his old life, the final piece of the fragmented whole. Against all reason, joy began to bubble in his blood, ready to burst forth and spread its wings, and then reality reasserted itself. It was completely and utterly impossible. The decision was so easy that he didn't even feel disappointment. Raking a shaking hand through his hair, he shook his head. "I'm honoured beyond anything I can express, master, but I can't be a Jedi—I won't give up Padmé—not for anything. Never again."

Unbelievably, Obi-Wan dismissed that objection with a wave of one hand. "Nobody is asking you to, Anakin. Things have changed. For one, you will be the only Jedi based here in the second world, and for another—Luke's new Jedi order is very different from the one that we knew. If he can get married, I don't see why you can't stay married."

"Excuse me! Luke is _married_?"

Obi-Wan smiled at his shocked exclamation. "Alright, I'll admit he isn't yet, but it's definitely in the wind. Still, you get my point." Inexplicably, he rose to his feet, clearly preparing to depart. "You can be both a Jedi and a husband, Anakin—it really is up to you."

"Wait. Where are you going?" Apart from being utterly thrown by the curveballs Obi-Wan had tossed at him so casually, Anakin hadn't even begun to ask all of the questions that he wanted to have answered. He shot to his feet too.

Obi-Wan turned back, gesturing at the figure standing patiently in the archway and waiting to be noticed. "Padmé is awake, and waiting for me to greet an old friend who hasn't seen her for far too long." Anakin had been so stunned and distracted that he hadn't sensed her approach. There were tears on her cheeks again, but this time of happiness. "If you don't mind," continued Obi-Wan, "I'll say my hello's and then leave you two to talk. If nothing else, I'm hoping that she'll bring you round to my way of thinking."

"Will you be back?"

"Oh, assuredly, I'm rather looking forward to visiting this bar you mentioned."

o~o~o

Padmé paced nervously while she waited for Anakin to appear. It was now full morning and her day of grace to have her husband to herself was over, but that wasn't what was making her uneasy. For the first time that she could ever remember, she was waiting to see how he dressed himself. She hadn't been able to stay in their bedroom, not without applying a pressure that she had no intention of applying. This was Anakin's decision and his alone. Oh, but she could hope. One question dominated her thoughts. _Would he wear the robes that Obi-Wan had given him_?

Finally, and after what seemed hours the door whooshed aside and he was standing before her. Her throat went tight as her gaze tracked down the tall length of him. "Oh, Ani! You look wonderful."

And he did. The undertunic was oatmeal and overlain by a light brown overtunic which in turn was covered by a dark brown leather tabard. His pants were a darker brown still and tucked into knee-high boots. The long flowing cloak, utility belt and ever present lightsaber completed the ensemble.

He lifted a chastising brow, then ruined the image by fidgeting where he stood. "A Jedi doesn't dress to look wonderful, Padmé. Just…" he shrugged, "…utilitarian."

Padmé wasn't deceived. He wasn't feeling at all casual. This was a very big deal to both of them. "In that case," she teased, "I'll settle for saying that you look very utilitarian and it's a style that suits you. How's that?"

"Better." His smile was crooked. "Are you ready to go?"

Going to him, she threaded her arm through his waiting one. "I am indeed, Jedi Skywalker. You may escort me to my transport."

On the landing pad, another air taxi awaited them. "Don't you have your own speeder?" he asked her as he handed her inside.

"There are shortages of most things right now, including transport. Emergency services have confiscated most of the privately owned transport. As it's for a good cause, I don't mind and I get priority on the taxi services that are available."

"Fair enough."

As today's driver was far too in awe of his passengers to chatter, they arrived at the palace without the sense of irritation that accompanied their last journey.

In a shrewd move, Obonè had insisted that the palace be the last to receive repairs for the damage it had sustained during the occupation. To the viewers at home, the decision sent a clear message that the new Premier considered the rest of the city and its citizens to be the higher priority. In an even shrewder move, Obonè was ensuring that message was repeated by having the media almost permanently encamped at the palace. The downside was that anyone entering would invariably find themselves ambushed with questions hurled from all quarters. Having learned her lesson after the med centre scene, Padmé had warned Anakin of this likelihood when the message had come through requesting their presence. Sat next to him in the air taxi as it approached the designated landing pad at the palace, Padmé stole a look at his profile, reassured to find him looking composed and unruffled—and so like a Jedi that her heart swelled. Unable to help it, she let her gaze linger. Little bubbles of joy kept rising up from her belly to swell up into her chest, and considering the emotional wasteland of the last two decades, she was finding these new sensations to be heady and addictive.

Once they'd landed, Anakin assisted her from the taxi and then kept her hand to once again tuck it through his arm. The stiff burgundy skirt of her formal dress brushed against his sweeping cloak as they walked towards the gaggle of reporters encircling the entrance into the palace. At the sight of Padmé and Anakin coming towards them, the colourful variety of sentients went into a frenzy that was only kept under control by the dampening presence of twin lines of security guards. In mute accord they refused to answer the questions thrown at them as they passed through, however, their obvious intimacy in such a public setting told its own tale. Messages abounded, mused Padmé. Anakin was taking care to reinforce the statement that she had made the previous day—that whatever the reason for their silence prior to this, they were husband and wife, and staying that way. Speculation would soon be rife.

Inside the palace, they were met by an elaborately robed Twi'lek male who greeted them with a deep bow. "Anakin Skywalker and Councillor Amidala, you are most welcome. My name is Pre'laknek. If you will follow me please, I will escort you to the council antechamber where refreshments await your pleasure."

Padmé met Anakin's sideways questioning glance with wide-eyes and a barely perceptible shrug. She didn't have a clue what was going on. She'd attended council meetings regularly since the council had been reformed and had not been treated this way—more like an honoured guest than a working civil servant.

"Council antechamber?" questioned Anakin in a low voice as they followed behind the officious bustle of Pre'laknek.

"The audience chamber has been renamed to that of council chamber," Padmé whispered back, "and the antechamber is a small room just off it that was previously used by Lyonides for spying on the rest of us."

"Ah," smiled Anakin. "Changes are already afoot."

"Many and varied," agreed Padmé, returning his smile, "And, thankfully, all for the better."

Pre'laknek bowed again as he waved them through a doorway just preceding that of the main council chamber. Inside, they both came to a surprised halt. The room was already close to full. Sal, Lorne, Freyrr, Jester, Jazz and Vlad to name a few were standing around in various stages of eating and drinking. Sal looked distinctly odd in an unrumpled set of clothes with his hair brushed neatly back and scarred cheeks clean-shaven, and he wasn't the only one wearing his best clothes. Lorne was as dapper as ever in eye-popping purple.

Twinkling red eyes surveyed Anakin's Jedi robes. "Well, _hello_, handsome, and don't you two look fetching and the picture of a cosy twosome today." The last was said with a glance at their linked arms. "Congratulations, princess," he said to Padmé. "I knew you could do it. Never bet against a woman in love! Now, how about sharing some of the love and giving out some hugs." He held out an arm to Padmé and she gladly moved in to give him an affectionate squeeze and a fond peck on one green cheek. The oddly dressed and bizarrely outspoken Pylean had turned out to be a true and real friend.

"Hey! What about me?" Sal was next and then it was greetings all round.

Padmé's heart gave another leap at seeing Sal and Anakin embrace, grinning and then slap each other on the back with the comfortable camaraderie of two close friends. Loud in her welcome, Freyrr all but lifted Padmé in the air in her enthusiasm and nearly did the same to a grimacing Anakin, who patted her awkwardly on one massive and furred shoulder. Everyone else then surged toward the new arrivals. The back-slapping and hand-shakes finally died down as conversations resumed. She drifted back to stand beside Anakin and asked Lorne, "Do you know what all of this is about?"

"They didn't tell you," guessed Lorne, amused. "Our revered and reassuringly smart leader must have been worried that the hero here would get stage-fright if he was pre-warned."

Anakin, the hero in question, folded his arms and tried not to look smug with his rebuttal. "Let me guess. We're about to walk into an impromptu awards ceremony? Probably arranged to give the people something else to think about and, if possible, feel a little good about." Then quirking a brow he added, "and I _don't_ get stage fright."

"I'll remind you of that the next time I ask you to sing for me in Caritas; which, by the way, is seriously rockin' at the moment. I'm sold out, booked solid for weeks—although I'll always have a table free for you, sugarplum," Lorne assured Padmé.

"He ain't kidding," griped Sal. "You can barely squeeze ass room at the bar these days, and I'm a freakin' paying tenant."

Lorne was utterly unrepentant. "It's strictly a first come first served basis, Kimosabe. A man of my fame and generosity can't be seen to have favourite clients. Speaking of which, what the hell happened to my order of sweetmeats? They were supposed to have been delivered yesterday. I had to beat back a ravenous mob of Bothans this morning at breakfast."

"Tough. I've got a stack of orders up to my damned eyeballs and more coming in. I'll get to you when I get to you." Sal offered him a nasty smile. "I can't have favourite clients either, _Kimosabe_!" He then turned a long-suffering look on Anakin. "I need ya back, pal, seriously. Everyone and his damned brother is after _stuff_, or trying to get somewhere else to fetch it themselves." He looked disgusted at the rampant consumerism. "I've clocked more flight time in the last seven days than the previous seven months. How about it?"

Padmé waited for his answer with an interest equal to Sal, wondering how Anakin planned to manage the transition of one life to another. "Let me know where and when and we'll work something out. But, in the long-term there'll be times that I can't make it, so you need to train someone else as an alternative. It shouldn't be a problem. There's plenty of pilots in the city to choose from."

"Yeah, but damned few as handy in a tight spot as you." Sal shrugged philosophically. "But I'll settle for what I can get and find an alternative for when there's a problem."

Jester must have overheard. Ambling over, the besalisk gave Sal his trademark wide, jovial grin. "Jazz can fly the pants off most of you skyjockies and she's hell on wheels in a tight spot." He clapped Sal on the shoulder so hard that he choked on his Junga juice. "Give her a whirl sometime."

Giving the caramel-skinned Amazon a jaundiced look, Sal caught her challenging toothy grin and gave back one that was equally as feral, muttering. "When hell freezes over, Jester, maybe, just maybe, I'll give one of your boar-wolves a chance to fly my ship."

"You baby that rust-bucket more'n an anxious mama, boy." Jester's shout of laughter was interrupted by the adjoining doors to the council chamber swooshing open, revealing the same Twi'lek that had greeted Padmé and Anakin. This time his bow was deep enough that the tips of his head-tails brushed the mosaic floor. "We are ready for you now, honoured guests. If you would all follow me."

~o~

The council chamber where Lyonides had tried Anakin for his actions as Darth Vader was echoingly empty. However, the twin doors at the bottom right were flung open and sunlight burst through from the outside. Pre'laknek led the group to the open doors and out into the sunshine. The council members, complete with a smiling Premier Obonè in the middle, were assembled on the wide and deep landing at the top of stone steps. At the bottom of the steps, and as far as the eye could see, thousands of people were gathered in a sea of heads. Stepping out with Padmé at his side and then flanked by Sal and Lorne, Anakin was irresistibly reminded of the celebrations following the battle of Naboo. There was no dancing or music, but the swiftly flowing river of gratitude that he could feel flowing in the Force was disorientingly similar.

The council and Obonè stepped back so that the long line of heroes to be honoured could form and look at the people, and be looked at in return--to see who and what it was that they'd risked their lives to save.

In turn, the people of Junga Roth didn't wait for any introductions, speeches or the handing out of medals. It started somewhere near the front and then swelled from every direction. They began to clap and the noise of that grateful applause rose and rose until it reached an emotional and deafening crescendo.

It was impossible not to be moved. The sound of that applause was a song in Anakin's heart. He had no more secrets. His past as Vader wasn't hidden or swept aside. He had nothing left to hide. These people knew the worst of him, and yet they accepted him--accepted that he was a different man now. Despite Obi-Wan's assurances he hadn't felt truly redeemed, until now. He was forgiven. He would always feel shame and guilt but those emotions would come from inside him and not from the people he wanted to serve. And serve them he would. Swallowing a swell of gratitude and compassion, Anakin vowed that he would do everything in his power to allow them to live their lives in peace, and redeem.

Padmé must have sensed something of what he was feeling, because she clasped his hand and squeezed.

~o~

After the presentation and with smiling permission from Padmé, Obonè singled Anakin out to walk alone with her. Typical of her no-nonsense approach she took no retinue, and as the weather was so beautiful, she opted to follow the decorative walkways that meandered around the sprawling palace. As they strolled along the sunlit paths, Anakin noticed for the first time that that the birds were singing as they fluttered from tree to tree and bush to bush. There had been a similar change to the encircling forest—oddly, it no longer seemed so dark and threatening. The poison of the dark side was gone, defeated along with Sidious.

Seeing that Obonè was in no rush to open a conversation, Anakin chose to do so for her. "I want you to know that, like Padmé, I believe that you'll make an exceptional Premier for Roth. The city needs a fair and compassionate leader now, and I can't think of anyone better suited to the job."

"Thank you, Anakin. It means a great deal to me to have your support as well as your wife's," she smiled knowingly as she said this and the gleam in her dark eyes was of genuine delight for them both. Then she turned serious. "However, full democratic elections must be arranged and held as soon as possible and there's no guarantee that I'll win. Others may be nominated and then win more votes." She shrugged. "It is the way of politics."

"I've known many a political system that is far less democratic," Anakin disputed gently. "And if it helps, you'll have my vote, regardless."

"Thank you," she said, and then continued. "However, there are rumours in the media of you yourself being nominated, rumours made stronger by the fact that Padmé has stated clearly that she won't be running."

"If that happens, I will politely decline. I am not meant for a life of politics. I'll leave that to you, Padmé and the council." Anakin's flat, definite tone deliberately left no room for doubt.

"I believe you, and I'm relieved," admitted Obonè with a smile, "although probably not for the reasons you may assume. I think it would be a waste of your talents to be mired in the subtleties of politics, opinion polls, petty squabbles and worse, the endless administrative quagmires. In fact, if you're agreeable. I would ask for your assistance, and the use of your talents for other things."

Ahead of them, rubble caused by the Limidian's cannons was in the process of being carted up and swept away. They took a wide loop to avoid getting in the way of the clean-up work. "My talents, such as they are, are at your disposal, Premier."

"A little bird tells me that you are once again a Jedi Knight. Is this true?"

Ruefully Anakin wondered if the little bird was Padmé or Obi-Wan, the latter he now knew visited Obonè whenever he was in the city. "I have been reinstated, yes." He didn't elaborate.

"That's excellent news. In fact, I hope you don't mind, but I'm having an announcement drafted to that effect. Lyonides wasn't wrong when he said that it would be an immense relief to the people to know that they have a Jedi in their midst, protecting them. Particularly as that Jedi is you."

"I'm honoured to hold their trust so securely, but tell me, do I have a choice about the announcement?" he asked, amused and already suspecting the answer.

Obonè gave a shout of laughter that rivalled Jester's for volume. "Not really, no. I'm asking only to be polite."

Her honestly was so refreshing that even if he'd been given a choice, he would have acquiesced to the request. As such, Anakin inclined his head and said lightly, "In that case, you may go ahead with my blessing."

"Seriously though, Anakin—" she paused and slid him a quizzical glance, "—by the way, should I be calling you by some title? I'm afraid that I know little about the Jedi Order."

"Anakin is fine. But if you feel the need to be formal it's, Jedi Knight Skywalker." He hoped that it didn't show that he still felt a distinct sense of unreality about saying such a thing, or that the fine hairs on his body stood up on end when he did—much as they had when he'd donned the Jedi robes this morning. His new life, he mused, was going to take some getting used to.

"Anakin," continued Obonè. "I would like you to consider a position on my council. With so many dead or missing there are several positions available, or if you would feel that might be too structured and restricting, I could do with an advisor."

"Offering you advice when it's needed is certainly possible, but a formal position on the council is probably unwise." Avoiding Obonè's too astute gaze, Anakin watched a bat-hawk swoop and catch a much smaller and defenceless spider sparrow. "Peacekeeping and politics are uneasy bedfellows, Premier, and become easily entangled to the point that truth is obscured. Send for me when you need me and I'll come. Other than that I can't promise, except to swear to you that I will protect this city and its people—within the boundaries granted to a Jedi." Now he focused on her. "I hope that reassures you."

Obonè came to a halt as if to consider his words, then nodded once in satisfaction. "Now that you mention it, it does." She sighed, "And we do need you." A wave of her hand drew his attention to a Gius Natar's one-time pride and joy, the distant security centre with its snaking line of draftees. "We are far from recovered. The security forces of the city have been severely depleted and looting has already begun, as has a rise in the crime rate, and that's only the internal threats. Our neighbours both near and far are also circling."

"Like anything in nature, and the Force, every civilisation has its ruthless and darker elements, as well as its predators," commented Anakin. "I know enough about those. I can help you."

Sombrely, she reached out to lay a hand on his arm. "Thank you, Anakin, from myself and a people lucky enough to have you as their guardian."

~o~

_(Two weeks later…)_

It was a vastly different Outer Rim than he remembered noted Obi-Wan with satisfaction. Cushioned by a new sense of security and aided by well thought out public spending, the residences now no longer resembled the despairing slums of some backwater and discarded world. Business had also opened up and succumbing to a sense of pride, people were spending money to do up their homes or their persons. Jobs had been created, increasing spending power so that café's and restaurants had been created to sit along side the numerous stores. Boosted by this surge in confidence, advertisers had moved into the Outer Rim, adding colour with their blinking arrays of neon screens selling dreams and fantasies in the form of the perfect body, the perfect mate, or the perfect place to eat. All in all, he thought, it was a massively improved picture and a pleasure to stroll through with a friend at your side and the promise of an alcoholic beverage at journey's end.

The club didn't stand out particularly, but the scents wafting up the stairs were appetising and the indeterminate noise of distant music certainly seemed lively. Standing below the blinking sign advertising '_Caritas_' and fully prepared to enjoy himself, Obi-Wan turned to Anakin and said, "You know, I can't help but get the feeling that you're being deliberately vague about this place. You say that you know the owner?"

"Oh, yeah. I know him." Arms folded, Anakin couldn't have looked more suspiciously bland if he tried. "He's the…hospitable type."

People were skirting around them, Intent on their business and obviously unconcerned to see two Jedi just standing about in the street. Hospitable was one of those descriptors with a wide variety of connotations, as his ex-apprentice knew very well. Intrigued, Obi-Wan tried again. "Padmé mentioned that you once rented an apartment above it."

And that was all he'd been able to prise out of a visibly amused Padmé Skywalker.

"That's true." The picture of non-committal, Anakin gestured to the doorway. "Shall we go down, master?"

Obi-Wan nodded, almost looking forward to whatever spectacle Anakin had planned for him—almost. "After you."

The noise ramped up considerably at the bottom of the single flight of stairs and skyrocketed past deafening once they'd passed through the final door. The club was crammed with sentients of all shapes and sizes. On the right was a long, polished bar backlit by moodsceens. The left was dominated by a stage, and a familiar green and horned humanoid who was belting out a rather catchy tune enthusiastically into a microphone.

Obi-Wan had to raise his voice to be heard. "Isn't that your friend Lorne?" he asked Anakin, following behind him as they threaded through the crowd, dodging tables to get to the bar. They had to squeeze in a gap between a Rhodian and an overweight human male.

"Lorne is the owner I was telling you about," confessed Anakin with a grin, leaning one arm on the bar.

"What, the one who thinks I'm cute?"

"Lorne thinks everyone is cute. He doesn't discriminate—it's part of his charm."

"In that case I'll prepare to be charmed." Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. "What else aren't you telling me?"

"You'll see." Blue eyes danced with humour. "What'll you have?"

Obi-Wan surveyed the colourful decanters with a jaundiced eye. "Something non-lethal and only about medium potent."

"Spoilsport."

That was a definite challenge. Pursing his lips, Obi-Wan ran his fingers over his beard. "Alright, what would you recommend?"

"Leave it to me, master. I know just the thing."

"I was afraid of that," sighed Obi-Wan as Anakin turned, caught the attention of the barman and placed an order. On the stage, Lorne was wrapping up to thunderous applause. With only a small twinge of concern, he wondered what he'd let himself in for.

Obi-Wan took the drink that Anakin passed him just as something occurred to him. "You wouldn't be extracting some small-minded revenge for my avoidance of you during the Narzgh occupation would you?"

"Would I be so petty after you explained to me that you were under strict orders not to directly interfere, distract me or otherwise risk aggravating me in my already mildly agitated state?"

"Mildly agitated he says," snorted Obi-Wan, "And, knowing you as I do, I'd have to say yes to the revenge—hence my query." He took a cautious sniff of the beverage and could smell only fruit, so he followed up with a sip. "Hmm, very tasty." Smiling, he clapped Anakin on the shoulder. "Maybe, I've misjudged you after all."

Grinning himself now, Anakin suddenly focused over Obi-Wan's shoulder, raising his voice to say, "Lorne, I've brought you a guest. You two have met before, but did you know that Master Kenobi here has an astounding singing voice?"

_Astounding singing voice!_ Obi-Wan choked on his second, much less cautious sip. "Hold on. What's my voice got to do with anything?"

Other than a beaming smile, Lorne ignored Obi-Wan to reply to Anakin. "I can't stop to chat now, handsome. I'm on the clock, but you've hooked me. This I gotta hear. The second to last slot before closing is still open. I'll book you in—which gives you roughly two hours to get a few more _loopyfruits_ down him. Ciao."

Obi-Wan waited until Lorne had drifted off with a cheery wave to warn, "I'm not singing, Anakin."

"We'll see. Ready for a refill yet?"

"That depends if you are."

_Two hours later…_

The wall outside Caritas was propping them up. "I didn't know that you knew any Zeltron love songs?" said Anakin abruptly. "Isn't that a bit racy for you?"

"Well, I didn't know that you knew any Chalactan gypsy tunes," retorted Obi-Wan, bent over with his hands on his knees. With a supreme effort, he straightened back up and weaved only a little. "In fact, come to think of it. I wish I'd remained in ignorance of that particular piece of intelligence."

"That's your fault, master" accused Anakin, trying to scowl but unable to co-ordinate his eyebrows. "I wasn't the one who was supposed to be singing. _You_ were."

Obi-Wan held up a hand for a time-out while he hiccoughed, then said, "Don't blame me. It was you who insisted on the duet."

"Now, now. No more bickering, kids." Lorne finished locking up and looked over at the pair, then rolled his eyes at the pitiful sight. "Look, I'll call you a cab. Go home and sleep it off, and if Padmé asks why I let you get yourselves in such a state, tell her I simply couldn't resist. I'm sure she'll understand, and if not, hell, tell her I recorded it for prosperity, and possibly for future blackmail purposes. I'm sure she'd get a kick out of a viewing."

It was the dash of icy water they needed. Both Anakin and Obi-Wan blasted him with identical, aghast stares. "_You recorded that_!"

THE END

NOTE (2): That's it folks! The very end. Wow! I'm knackered, lol. Anyway, THANK YOU SO MUCH to all of you who have helped me get this story written with your reviews. Everyone's comments have meant a great deal, and more than made up for the hours hunched over my laptop. I hope you've enjoyed the story half as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

I think that's it. Wow again! And thanks again! And last but not least (as Lorne would say), Take care and toodles! Helen.


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